Darkest Hour
by punkydiva17
Summary: *Story Completed* Celeste Marlowe finds herself in severe trouble with her college sweetheart, Brock Lesnar, and finds unexpected comfort with Brock's biggest advesary, The Undertaker. Will he be able to help her out? R
1. Chapter 1

**One**

Mark Calaway, better known to millions of people as the Undertaker, rode up to the Gund arena in Cleveland, Ohio on his motorcycle. There were already fans gathered around along the back of the arena, cheering wildly at the roar of the motorcycle and his intimidating appearance. "Undertaker, you rule!" a fan cried out, his deep voice carrying over the screaming fans. Another fan echoed his sentiments. He stopped the motorcycle and climbed off, standing to his full intimidating height of six-ten, a wide smile crossing his features. No matter how long he worked for Vince McMahon and the WWE, the constant fan recognition always amused him. He stopped and shook hands with a few of the fans before gathering his duffel bag on the back of his bike. Slinging it over his shoulder he gave them his raised arm salute before disappearing into the arena. He was offering cheerful greetings to the technicians, Superstars and Divas he ran into before stopping at his locker room. He dropped his bag inside and made his way down the hall towards the catering area. He needed a coffee.

He stood at the table, fixing himself a cup, stirring in some sugar. He used to be able to drink it black, but he just couldn't these days. He'd found himself slowly adding sugar to his coffee.

"Damn it!"

It wasn't a loud outburst, more like a whispered gasp. He looked down the hallway to see Celeste Marlowe kicking at the vending machine in frustration. He smirked. She looked great; as always, dressed in a pair of pale blue jeans and a flowing black tank top, her caramel hair around her face in soft waves. He knew a fair amount about her, but the most important piece of information was that she was dating his number one contender Brock Lesnar, a newbie Neanderthal who treated her like dirt. Same with Brock's so-called "agent", Paul Heyman. She seemed like a sweet girl, but they treated her like a nuisance. He sipped his coffee; he could never figure out why she stayed.

"Hello, beautiful."

Celeste jumped and took a deep breath as her brown eyes stared up at the Undertaker. She instantly looked afraid, and he understood the reason why she looked so terrified. "L-look, Taker, I - I don't want any trouble..."

"Take it easy," he assured her, "I'm not here to terrorize you." He sipped his coffee. "Look, I know Brock and his little buddy are busy, so I thought that I would talk to you a little bit, if that's all right."

She looked reluctant, and then she nodded slowly. She knew that with his size, if he wanted to talk to her, he would regardless. "Fine. But promise me that you won't hurt me, or hold me hostage or..."

He wanted to tell her that he doubted that Brock would rescue her if that happened, but he took a deep breath and nodded. "You have my word," he promised her. He led her down the hallway to his locker room, sipping his coffee.

"Why am I here, Taker?" she asked, her tone nervous as he shut the door behind them.

"Call me Mark," he replied. She took a deep breath.

"Mark. What's going on?"

"Nothing," he insisted, his tone becoming defensive.He took a deep breath. "Look, believe it or not, I'm not the bad guy here."

"I never said you were," she replied softly. He was taken aback by her calmness. She was also incredibly subdued. Something in her eyes reminded him of Miss Elizabeth. He shook his head, trying to work the comparisons out of his brain. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from her.

"Look, I just thought that you could use a friend, okay?" he told her. "I've seen the way those two treat you and it's just not right."

"Are you trying to get into my head or something?" she accused, her tone becoming defensive. "I get it now. Three weeks until Unforgiven, and you're hoping to hell that I can give you some kind of leverage over Brock, well, let me tell you - it's not happening!" She stood up to storm out, indignant, but Mark grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. Her head whipped around, staring daggers at him.

"Celeste, I'm being genuine here," he assured her. She looked in his eyes. They were like emeralds, sparkling. They were almost mesmerizing. She sighed. "Don't think I'm trying to use you, Celeste. I've been here long enough to know I can get into people's heads just fine without help." She nodded at the logic and he motioned for her to sit down again. She reluctantly took her spot on a chair and Mark sat down across from her. "I have to ask, Celeste...how do you put up with Lesnar and Heyman?"

Celeste looked down at her hands. There was definitely something that made her stay, and Mark began thinking a lot of it was fear. "Brock and Paul are just focused on other things. They deal with me when there's nothing to do."

"_They_ deal with you?"

"Get the thought out of your head," she told him. "It's not like they pass me around like a peace pipe. It doesn't make Paul any less of a sleaze though." Mark nodded, a little taken aback by the woman's candor.

"I broke into the business with the guy. Trust me, I know." A soft smile crossed her features.

"I forgot. You're an ancient," she said softly. He saw a mischevious glint in her eye and laughed.

"Ancient...get the fuck out of here with that," he laughed. "I'm only thirty-nine. How old are you?"

"Twenty-five. I'm about two months younger than Brock."

"How'd you get into this business?"

"Brock. I've been dating him since college." She sighed. "He was a nice guy back then. Sure he still has his moments...but with Paul around all the time..."

"So why do you stay?"

"I guess it's been so long, you kind of accept the fact that he's all you got left." She looked at the dainty silver watch on her wrist. "I should get back. If Brock and Paul come back and find I'm gone, they're going to blow a gasket." She stood. Mark stood as well.

"I mean it, Celeste. You ever have a problem with those two, you know where to find me." She only offered a nod before checking out the door. When she was certain there was no one in sight, she left his locker room. He sighed. He was opening a can of worms here; he knew it. Nothing good ever came from women in these situations. But something told him that he needed to help her out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman were fuming in Brock's locker room, pacing back and forth like madmen. Where the hell was Celeste?

"You need to keep a tighter leash on that thing of yours," Paul snapped. "I don't even understand why the hell you bring her out here with you! The only thing she does is cause a fucking distraction!" Brock nodded. More and more, he found himself questioning what this was doing to their relationship. He found more and more, he was getting aggressive to keep her in line for nothing more than wandering around the backstage area. It was a catch twenty-two, however, since it was wrong to just drag her around the country and lock her in a locker room. The door opened and Celeste walked in with a cup of coffee. The instant she entered, she was blocked by Paul and Brock, the door slamming behind her. "Oh, look who _finally_ decided to show up."

"Paul..." He hit her coffee cup out of her hand and it flew across the locker room, spilling the caramel colored beverage on the floor. Her hazel eyes widened as she stared over at the coffee.

"Brock is very, very busy preparing himself for his match with the Undertaker. He doesn't have the time to be chasing your ass around the arena." Paul's face was contorted in an ugly snarl, spittle flying from his lips as he spoke. She looked to Brock to act as some kind of a buffer, but found his blue eyes just as cold as Paul's. At one point, he would have been afraid that she would have left him, but with the worse they got, he became assured that she would always come back.

"I just went for coffee..." she said, her tone almost silent, her eyes going back to the coffee spilled all over the floor. The scent of coffee and creamer tickled at her nostrils. She had retreated further and further into herself since Brock had gotten with Paul Heyman.

"I don't care if you went to Timbuktu, Celeste, we can't have you distracting Brock all the goddamn time."

"Then why am I here?" she asked. Brock's face darkened, and Paul smiled sickly.

"You're here because you want to be, remember?" Brock reminded her. She looked over at him. More and more her opinion of him was changing, and it wasn't for the better. The truth was, the more and more they did this to her, the less and less she wanted to be there. They just weren't taking no for an answer.

Mark changed back into his regular clothing at the end of the night. Sliding his leather jacket on over his black Harley Davidson T-shirt, he sighed. His mind was on Celeste. He hoped she was all right. She seemed almost terrified that Brock and Paul would find her with him. He could understand that though.

College sweethearts. That's why it was so hard for her to walk away from Brock. She saw him pursue his dream and she was determined to watch him enjoy it. He shook his head. He couldn't think of her. It wasn't good for anyone in the situation. There was a knock on the door. "Yeah?"

John Layfield, affectionately known as Bradshaw walked backstage. "Hey, man."

"Hey. What's up?"

"A bunch of us are going drinking tonight. You should join us."

"Nah, man, I'm okay," he replied, adjusting his duffel bag over his broad shoulder. "I'm pretty jetlagged. How about the next show?"

"Holding you to that, Mark."

"You do that, Bradshaw. Have fun out there tonight." John had been hitting the bars more and more since his divorce. Mark wasn't worried about him though. John was just enjoying the free life. John bid him farewell and disappeared. Mark looked around the locker room to make sure that he didn't forget anything. With a sigh, he readjusted his bag and left, shutting off the lights behind him.

"What happened?"

Celeste jumped at the voice and turned to see Mark. She was shaking. He cocked an eyebrow. "Hey, breathe easy. You know I'm not going to hurt you." She nodded and exhaled.

"I got in a fight with Brock and Paul and they...well...they left me here."

"What?"

"It's fine. They do this more than you'd like to think. I just have to call a cab, go back and let them yell at me a little bit more." She sighed. "What a glamorous life, that of a wrestler's girlfriend."

"I take offense to that," Mark told her. "We're not all total assholes." She laughed.

"I don't mean to offend you, Mark."

"So how did Heyman sink his claws into Brock?"

"He approached Brock at an OV show," she replied, running a hand through her caramel hair. "I wasn't at the show, but Brock was all excited when he came home. Heyman said he'd see Brock right to the top when he made it to WWE. Assured him he had Vince begging for Brock to come up to the main roster and he wanted to be there to fast-track Brock to success."

"And what did you think, Celeste?"

She exhaled, her breath creating a pale white puff in the cold September night. "I thought he sold his soul to the devil," she replied. "But how do you tell that to the love of your life when he's so happy?" Mark could see she was torn up about what was going on.

"Are you in a rush to go back to the hotel?" he asked.

"Honestly? No. Paul's going to wig out until he leaves and then Brock will calm down a little bit and be a little more human with me. We'll fall asleep together watching a movie and then the next morning the saga continues." Mark was taken aback by the dry tone in her voice.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten anything since I got off the plane. Would you mind going for dinner with me?"

Celeste's face took on a contemplative tone. "Mark, I don't think that's a good idea." She shook her head. "If word gets back to them that I'm even in the same vicinity as you, I'm as good as dead." She shook her head. "Brock and Paul expect me back at the hotel pretty soon."

"At least let me give you a ride," he offered. "It's the least I could do. I feel somewhat responsible for what happened."

"I can't do that. The guys hear your bike pulling up..." She shook her head. "Don't worry about me, Mark. I've been putting up with this since Brock was on Raw. It's not like he hits me or anything, so just breathe easy."

"It still doesn't make how he treats you right, Celeste," he told her. She shrugged.

"Look, I appreciate everything you've done for me tonight, Mark. I really have to get going though. Have yourself a good night."

"You too, Celeste. You ever need anything, I'm not hard to find." She nodded and flashed him a heartwarming smile.

"I'll keep that in mind." She turned her back to him and walked into the night. He sighed. This wasn't good at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

With shaky hands, Celeste put the keycard into the door. When the light flashed green, she pushed it open and entered quietly. The room was semi-dark, only a slit of light under the bathroom door. She sighed. _Brock must be in the shower. _She looked around for any sign of Paul Heyman.

"I sent him back to his room early tonight."

She jumped at the sound of Brock's voice and she turned to look at him. He looked hot, wearing nothing more than a towel draped around his waist. He made his way across the room to her and stuck his hands on her hips. His hands on her always made her lose any anger she felt, regardless of how warranted it seemed to be. "Oh?"

"I needed a night with my favorite girl," he told her, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. She sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry Paul doesn't like you so much."

"Brock...maybe it'd be better if I just stayed home while you were on the road." His face snapped up to hers.

"What? No." He shook his head. "Celeste, don't think like that. I want you here. I wouldn't want to be having this much success with anyone else. Please don't think like that."

"I'm not here for you guys to torture, or leave behind at the arena."

"Baby, that was just a misunderstanding on Paul's part..."

"Because I went to get a cup of coffee." She shook her head. "It's ridiculous. Why am I here if you guys don't want me doing anything?"

He sighed. "Celeste, just take my word for it. I want you here. We're just trying to keep you safe. It can get dangerous if the wrong people get their hands on you just to get to me." She nodded and he leaned in, giving her a soft kiss. Her hands rested on his damp skin, the smell of soap torturing her senses. He pressed her closer to him as his tongue entered her mouth, exploring with expertise. She moaned, her hand running up the back of his neck to ruffle through his short blond hair. Swiftly, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him and taking her over to the bed, laying her down without breaking the kiss. Her breathing was catching as his lips traveled to her neck, nipping with his teeth before soothing with soft kisses. Her hand ran down his muscular back before pulling the towel away from him. He smiled against her lips. "Celeste..."

"Shut up," she breathed, kissing him, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as he worked to strip her without breaking the kiss. When he had her stripped naked in front of him, he wasted no time sliding into her, causing her body to jolt. No matter how many times they made love, Celeste always had a difficult time adjusting to his size. He didn't give her much time tonight, though, as he began moving fast, sharp stabs of pain and pleasure shooting through Celeste as she cried out often. He wasn't in the moment, and truthfully neither was she. But his distraction was more evident to Celeste than hers was to him. He thrust wildly, their breathing labored and hitched, reverberating off the walls of their silent hotel room.

"Oh...Brock..." Her fingers spread out across his arms, pressing tightly, leaving white fingerprints against his tanned flesh. "Brock..."

"I love you, Celeste," he told her, kissing her neck. With a few more thrusts, it was over, with Brock rolling off of her almost right away. He kissed her forehead and curled under the blanket. He brought Celeste under with him and curled up against her, resting his head on her breast. For as long as they had been together, Brock had always rested on her chest after they made love. It was just a habit that he had. It was a habit that she treasured.

She looked down at the top of his head. She loved Brock; but Mark was right. There was definitely something that kept bringing her back. She sighed. She hated that Mark had put the thoughts in her head. She felt Brock's fingers stroking her stomach as his breathing relaxed. It was these moments that kept her bringing back. The moments when he told her he loved her, when he laid against her and ran his fingers over her skin. She sighed. The best thing she could do was stay away from the Undertaker.

Mark made his way back into the hotel. He had managed to find a twenty-four hour diner on the outskirts of town. After having dinner and signing some autographs, he made his way back to the hotel. He was exhausted and Unforgiven was coming up pretty fast. He was hoping to finally get the title off of Brock. Dwayne had dropped it to him back in August so he could have more time to pursue his blooming movie career.

What was worse was that his mind was on Celeste. He wondered if she was okay. He was horrified that Brock and Paul Heyman would leave her behind at the arena and tell her to find a way back. There was something so sweet and so vulnerable about Celeste, so he knew that the last thing he would ever do was ditch her. He readjusted his bag and entered the lobby, making his way towards the elevator. He shook his head. He couldn't be thinking about her. Brock Lesnar was her college sweetheart, and for better or for worse, she seemed like she was going to stand by him.

He sighed. Women were confusing. He also realized that he didn't know the mechanics of their relationship, so he couldn't call her stupid for sticking with him. She did love him, it was obvious. It just killed him to watch women anchored to men who treated them so indifferently. He dug into his pocket for his keycard and entered his hotel room. Whoever booked the room had a hell of a sense of humor; WWE Champion Brock Lesnar was right next door.

Celeste stood out on the balcony, wrapped in nothing but a rose pink silk robe. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she stared out at the city below. Brock was sound asleep, dead to the world. He wouldn't wake up until the first rays of sun came up. That or Paul Heyman started banging on the door for Brock to start training. Then she'd be locked up in the hotel room waiting for Brock to get back.

She heard the sliding door next door open and she turned to come face to face with the barrier between the two rooms. She rested her arms on the banister and leaned over to stare down at the plants and the flowers below.

"Fancy meeting you here."

She turned her head to see Mark leaned over the balcony as well, a glass of water in his hand. She sighed and stared back down at the ground. "What's the matter?" She sighed. "Come on, Celeste, you can tell me." She shook her head. "Come on. You look like you could use someone to talk to other than the Big Neanderthal." She shot him a look and he quickly apologized. "Come on, Celeste. I don't think I've seen you talk to one Superstar or one Diva since you've been on the road with Brock. Fill me in here. Talk to me."

She crinkled her face. "I feel like a whore right now," she replied softly, shaking her head. "I doubt you really want to hear about that."

"On the contrary," he replied. "It's obviously bothering you." She sighed.

"Any woman in their right mind would be pissed that her boyfriend just dumped her behind at the arena. Hell, anyone woman would have left after the second time. But he does this at least once a week." She sighed. "But he came up to me tonight, and told me he wanted me here and told me he loved me, and I just fell right into it. If I had an ounce of self respect I probably would have killed him." She sighed, staring down at the grass below.

Mark shook his head. "It doesn't make you a whore, Celeste. Our definitions differ greatly there. I think you just need to get your head straightened out." She nodded. "You're dealing with a lot. You're on the road all the time, and it's not like they treat you very well, honey. You're away from your family, and the only people you talk to are Brock, who is hot and cold with you at best, and Paul Heyman who just shouts and snarls at you. How far off am I here?"

She sighed. "You're more or less spot on." She looked through the glass door. "I should get back inside. Brock's stirring. He'll be out here in a minute if I don't go in. Have a good night."

"Night, sweetheart. Anytime you need to talk, I'm not hard to find." She nodded and walked back into the room in time for Brock to prop himself up on his arms.

"Honey?"

"I just needed some fresh air," she told him, "I was feeling a little warm." He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm okay." She untied her robe and took it off, the moon silhouetting her naked frame in the darkness. She slid under the blanket and curled up against Brock.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, kissing her forehead. She nodded, yawning.

"Yeah. I'm okay. You should be sleeping, Brock. Paul's gonna be banging on the door early tomorrow morning." Brock nodded and kissed her forehead before pulling her closer and closing his eyes. Celeste sighed; with Mark right next door, there was no way she was going to get her head straightened out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Celeste sat alone in the hotel room, dressed in a pair of baggy cargo pants and a tight black tank top that showed off a lot of cleavage. She didn't see the point in dressing up; she was just spending the entire day locked up inside the hotel room anyways while Brock and Paul trained for Brock's upcoming match at Unforgiven. She pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and set about making the bed. She had barely slept the night before, just thinking about how ashamed she was to buy into Brock's words so fast. She really thought better of herself. It took Brock's words to knock her down a peg or two.

She also felt guilty for thinking about what Mark was saying to her. As Brock rested on her last night, his description of Brock being "hot and cold at best" was running through her head. She sighed, shaking her head. Everything just had to be so complicated with her. She knew Mark was right; but at the moment she wished she could just buy into some kind of blissful oblivion when it came to Brock.

The women backstage at SmackDown were more or less catty, all about who could sleep with the Superstar who held the most power. Torrie Wilson seemed to be the worst offender; a bleached blonde little number who was always seemed to be grasping for power backstage. Dawn Marie was right there, too, but Dawn Marie preferred to torture Torrie more than go after the big name players. And Nidia...well, Nidia struck Celeste as pretty odd. She felt out of the league of all these Divas, and she definitely had pangs of insecurity every now and then when it came to Brock.

She went over to the minifridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Brock would be gone until late tonight, running, stairclimbing, jumping, submerging himself in tubs of ice, while Paul shouted at him until his face went red and the veins threaten to burst on the side of his face. She sipped her water, staring out at the brisk, steel day that lay outside the sliding glass doors. Of course, she was locked inside.

A knock at the door snapped her thoughts out and she sighed. _I'll bet that's Mark_, she thought to herself, a small smile creeping across her features as she made her way over to the door. She peered through the eyehole and saw him standing on the other side, dressed in a white T-shirt and blue jeans, a navy bandana tied around his head. Trying to wipe the smile off her face, she opened the door and he handed her a cup of coffee. "Good morning, beautiful," he said, a smirk tugging at his features. Her face showed tension, fear.

"Mark - if anyone sees you here, do you know how much trouble I'm going to be in?"

"We'll solve that problem then," he replied and walked into the room. Instantly her mind went to Brock. He would kill her if he knew she had his number one contender in the same hotel room with her. He wouldn't even hear her out that nothing had happened.

"You're really going to get me in trouble," she replied, closing the door.

"Well, when are they due back?"

"I don't know."

"Look, Celeste, if you think I'm going to let you just sit around by yourself, you're out of your mind." He shook his head and sipped his coffee. "If Brock and Paul don't like that, then they're just going to have to get over the fact that you're going to make some friends."

"I'm sure they don't mind that I have friends..."

"Bullshit," he grumbled, placing his coffee cup on the counter. "Let's be real here, Celeste - you've been traveling with them since Brock came up to the main roster. And how many friends do you have here?" She tried to answer him with something that would combat his statement, but she knew he was right. Frustration boiled over.

"I don't have any. Is that what you want to hear?"

He shook his head. "I really would have rather you proved me wrong about that." She sipped her coffee. "Look, it's a pretty safe bet they won't be back until late afternoon right?"

She nodded. "I guess."

"Then come down to breakfast with me. A few of the guys and I always sit around and go over the night before." She shook her head.

"Forget it. Someone's going to see me with you, then it's going to get back to Brock and Paul...and if Brock doesn't do anything about it, then Paul will."

"Jesus Christ, do you ever get tired of this?" Mark stood to his feet. "There's no reason for them to be treating you like this, Celeste! You're so beautiful, and it's so irritating watching you lag along with these two guys who treat you like you're a prisoner or something."

"This isn't any of your business, Mark," she shot back, defensive. "If it was so bad I'd pack up my things and go home!"

"Then why don't you?" he asked with a smirk. He made his way towards her. "I know why. You think about it...you get riled up, you get tired of being left behind at the arena or being yelled at for whatever...but when Heyman's gone...and it's just you and Brock...it doesn't take a whole lot to convince you you want to stay..."

"Ugh." She tried to walk away from him but he stepped in her way.

"Come on, Celeste. You're a beautiful young lady, and what good is it doing you when nobody talks to you? You know what I think..."

"I think I've heard enough of what you think," she replied hotly. "Why don't you just get out of here?"

"I think you stay because you think there isn't anybody better for you out there," he told her with a smile. She scowled at him.

"I love Brock."

"Nobody's debating that, sweetheart. But love only gets somebody so far when they're doing what they're doing to you."

"Are you finished?" she asked.

"Not really. I could go on for a few hours." He smiled. She felt her anger boiling and before she could even think about what she was doing, she slapped him. Hard. The sound of her palm connecting with his cheek reverberated through the silent room. He looked at the stunned look on her face, and a smile crossed his features as he rubbed his cheek.

"Well...you do have a bit of fight in you," he said with a chuckle. "I was worried for a second you were just a doormat."

"Get out."

He smiled and went back to the counter to grab his coffee cup. "Fine. I'll go. But you ever get sick of putting up with all this...you know where to find me." He watched her entire body puff up as though she was ready to kill him and he only chuckled, sipping his coffee and leaving the room. Celeste sat down on the bed in silence before punching the pillow, hard.

"Asshole."


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

"You're playing a dangerous game, Deadman. I sure hope to fuck you know what you're doing."

"Why is it so fucking hard to believe that I'm not trying to play games with her? Shit, try to be goodhearted sometimes and what does it get you?" Mark shook his head. "Yes, it looks bad because she's Brock Lesnar's - and I use the term loosely - girlfriend, but Christ - I get so sick of her being locked up like a fucking prisoner while they run off on her. I can't even believe that they left her behind at the arena the other night."

"It's not going to get any better for Celeste, unfortunately," Trish Stratus replied with a shake of her head. They were all in Mark's locker room at a joint show taping, Mark, Trish, Bradshaw and Stephanie McMahon. "Word around the Raw locker room is he's running around on her with Torrie Wilson while they keep her locked up in the locker room."

"Fuck." Mark shook his head. "Good luck telling her that. She thinks that she and Brock are like Cinderella and Prince Charming. I brought up the other day that it's not right the way they treat her...and she slapped the taste right out of my mouth." They laughed.

"It's about time someone did that," Stephanie said with a laugh. "You got a big mouth, Mark."

"Not as big as Bradshaw's over here." Everyone laughed. Mark sighed. "Guys. Seriously. I am trying to do the right thing here, okay? I don't like the way they're treating her."

Stephanie nodded. "I know. I always forget she's around when she's here. And when I talk to her, she looks terrified of me."

"I've never even spoken to her," Trish replied. "I tried last month, but that little troll of Lesnar's intercepted me and just let me have it."

"What'd you do about that?"

"I told him to go to hell." They laughed. Trish was one of the most outspoken Divas on the roster, and while most Divas were afraid to tell off the big guys, Trish was more than ready to let them have it. She shook her head. "I'm with Bradshaw here, though, Mark. Fucking with another man's woman is danger all across the board."

"It's not like I'm fucking her, Trish," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm trying to be a friend because it looks like she could use one right now. There's no motive behind it. I swear." They nodded; they believed him. But they enjoyed busting his chops a little more.

Celeste stood alone, getting coffee at catering. Brock said he would be back after his segment, which had finished about a half hour ago. She knew better than to go look for him; he was probably off with Paul somewhere. Training. As always.

"Celeste?"

She jumped at the voice and she turned and saw Stephanie McMahon standing behind her. "Sorry - I didn't mean to startle you," Stephanie replied with an odd look on her face. Celeste dismissed it with a wave.

"That's okay. I'm just a little tired, so I'm a bit jumpy. What can I do for you?"

"I heard you slapped one of my top guys." Celeste sighed.

"What did he tell you?"

"He opened his mouth and you slapped the taste out of it." Celeste smiled.

"Can we not talk about this now? If anyone close to Brock or Paul know that I've been in close contact with the number one contender, I am in so much trouble." Stephanie sighed. "Please don't think of it like that. They just don't want me involved with the business...and whether I like it or not, you guys are the business."

"Then why are you here?" Stephanie asked, cocking an eyebrow. She sighed.

"I'm here because I want to be," she replied. Stephanie chortled.

"Is that what you're telling yourself?" she asked. "I don't care if you are Brock's college sweetheart or whatever...I wouldn't be putting up with half of this shit."

"That's the difference between you and I," she replied, grabbing her coffee and storming off down the hallway. Stephanie looked down the hallway at Celeste's retreating figure. She may look demure, but she did have a bit of spunk. That was something to be admired. She just hoped Mark knew what he was doing tangling himself up with Celeste Marlowe. It just spelled trouble for everyone.

Celeste opened the door to the locker room and almost dropped her coffee.

Mark flashed her a smile and she resisted the urge to throw her cup at him. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing," she replied, her voice low, shaky. "But you have got to get out of here now before Brock and Paul come back."

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. Her shoulders slumped and he saw the panic rising in her features. He made his way over to her. "I'm not going anywhere, Celeste. I'm your friend."

"You are a pain in my ass," she whispered through clenched teeth. He smiled.

"I can live with that."

"Mark, I'm telling you...you have to leave," she said, her voice raising just a little bit. "You can't be here."

"Celeste, I'm not leaving you alone to do nothing. Come on. Trish Stratus would love to meet you, she said. You need to make some friends here, whether you like it or not."

"That's not your decision to make. Get moving otherwise they're going to jump you the second they get back."

"Ah, so you're not worried about yourself. You're worried about me. Let me tell you something, Celeste. I've been here for twelve years. I know how to take care of myself."

"I didn't say you didn't," she replied softly. "Just the same, though, it's better you get out of here while you still have the chance." Mark sighed.

"Fine. I still stand by it, Celeste. I'm here when you need me." He turned only to be dropped with a hard first from Brock Lesnar.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

"What the fuck were you two doing together, Celeste?"

It had been an incredibly silent car ride back to the hotel, with Brock sternly telling Paul not to even think about showing up at their hotel room tonight. Celeste knew she was in huge trouble. The second the door had closed behind her he had started yelling. She sighed; nothing she said was getting through to him. It was completely useless to argue, but she was still trying. To him, it looked way worse because she had referred to him as "Mark". To Brock, it seemed to symbolize some kind of intimacy between the two of them, and the cheating accusations had been flying.

"He was there when I got back from getting a coffee, Brock," she replied. "I swear. I told him to leave a few times."

"Sure you did." Her eyes widened at his tone. Did he know that they had been talking over the last couple weeks? He couldn't have. She had been so careful to make sure he didn't find out that they had been talking. She knew how bad it would be for the two of them if he had found out that she was fraternizing with the number one contender.

"Excuse me?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her temper started to flare and she found herself instantly on the defensive. She was appalled at him for even insinuating that she was cheating when he kept her locked up by herself all the time. "You know what? If this is the way it's going to be, then I should just pack up now and go home. It's clear the only thing you want me here for is sex anyways. The rest of the time you couldn't be bothered with me. So if it's sex that you're after, Brock, I'm sure there's a few other women who can help you on that front, if they haven't already..."

The sound of his palm hitting her cheek and the sound of her crashing to the floor shattered the argument, followed by a deafening silence. Celeste looked up at him, holding her cheek, eyes wide in horror, tears streaming down her face. Normally she'd try to hide such a thing, but at the moment she was too shocked to even try and mask a reaction. Brock had never hit her before. For all of his faults, at least she could say that he had never done such a thing.

Brock's face was cold, unapologetic. She scrambled to her feet and looked him in the eyes. The room suddenly felt suffocating and she needed to get out. She needed to get away from Brock, first and foremost. "I'll send for my things; I'm going home. It's over, Brock. Just...just...stay away from me."

She went to make her way out of the door, but he grabbed her and yanked her back roughly. "It's over when I say it's over," he growled, his tone low, threatening. She stared back at him, her eyes conveying hurt and defiance.

"Get your hands off me, Brock. I'll stand for a lot, but I won't stand for this." She tried to shake out of his grip, but he wouldn't let her go. He loomed in close. He reminded her of a rabid animal with the way his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes blazed.

"If you think I'm going to stand for you whoring around with other men, Celeste, you're dead fucking wrong. You got it?"

"You've completely misunderstood the whole situation, Brock," she told him, her voice racked with sobs as she struggled to steady her breathing. "And after all these years together, I would have thought you had more faith in me. How stupid am I, huh?" Her words stunned him and he let her go, watching in surprise as she just walked out of the hotel room.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," she replied tearfully, holding the icepack to the side of Mark's face. "He got a good shot off on you."

"Looks like he got a good shot off on you, too," he replied, trying to move the bag to her face. She wouldn't allow it. "Jesus, Celeste, I've been doing this for twelve years now. This is nothing. Let me ice your cheek. It looks like it's going to be pretty ugly in the morning. You can already see it turning purple!"

"Icing it won't do any good," she replied. "I'm still going to remember it." His emerald eyes softened, saddened by her words. The tears began to flow freely again and he pulled her against him, until she sat on his lap at the edge of the bed. She rested her head on his chest and cried while he soothed her, stroking her hair. "I guess I kind of deserved it," she choked out. "I made him so mad...I...I went and accused him of fucking another Diva..."

"Hey - hey! You did _not_ deserve this, Celeste," he told her firmly. He wanted to tell her that her suspicions about Brock weren't completely false, but he knew that she needed his comfort more than anything at the moment. It wasn't the time to start burying Brock Lesnar, although he was tempted. He was even more tempted to go next door and rip the guy's throat out. "The guy is triple your size. He had no reason to hit you." He had to struggle to keep the hostility out of his voice. The feel of her in his arms was helping him with that.

"I didn't think he had such little respect for me," she cried. "I told him I was leaving, that I was going home. I want to be out of here by the time he gets back tomorrow night." Mark sighed.

"You don't have to leave," he told her. "We'd all love to have you around." She sighed.

"Who would? All my friends?" She shook her head, laughing sarcastically. "Or would you just like having me around?"

"I'd like having you around," he told her softly, placing the icepack to her cheek. She snuggled closer to him and continued to cry softly. He rocked her softly. He didn't know just how things had complicated so fast. He liked her, he really did. But this was Brock Lesnar's girlfriend. There would be hell to pay just for her being here. But one look at her bruising cheek told him that whether she admitted it or not, she needed him to protect her.

When he was certain she was completely asleep, he gently made his way to his feet, with her in his arms, and laid her down on the unmade bed. He brought the covers up over her and she stirred slightly, but her eyes didn't open. He went over to the mini fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of water. He knew what he needed. Liquor. But he knew that he couldn't leave her at the moment. He contemplated for a minute whether or not he should crawl into the bed with her. The couch was too small for him. As it was his ankles dangled comically over the end of the bed. _The price I pay for being a giant_, he thought to himself with a sardonic grin playing at his lips. He shook his head. They were both adults, both dressed, and he wasn't into taking advantage of women, even if he did like them. He pulled back the other side of the covers and climbed into bed, shutting off the lamp. Tomorrow he'd have a solution for Celeste. He just had to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Celeste smiled as she slowly came awake, feeling the hard muscles moving up and down softly under her head. Last night had seemed like a nightmare. Never in a million years did she think it would happen, but it did; Brock had hit her. He had left a nice purple bruise on the side of her face that no ice pack or concealer would cover.

She knew that she wasn't back in her hotel room; she wasn't stupid enough to return after something like that. She was with Mark. After everything she had said to him, after the way she had treated him the other day in her hotel room, slapping him for even insinuating that she was a doormat, he had been more than happy to take care of her in her hysterical state. The thought of that made her feel guilty. But it was Mark's firm, warm flesh that she felt under her head, and she kind of reveled in it. She wondered if it was a weird sense of hero worship she was feeling. It was his waist that her arm was draped around, not Brock's, and it felt good to her, even though nothing incredibly intimate happened between the two of them. And that thought scared her. She jolted up...she was pretty upset the night before. Did anything happen? She didn't remember much after she had curled into his arms, but she hoped she hadn't tried to seduce him, or had crossed the line with him.

Mark was still asleep. She contemplated leaving. It was five thirty in the morning and she could hear Paul banging on the door next door. Mark's hand wrapped around her arm and brought her back down. "Rest for now," he mumbled, his eyes remaining closed. They could hear Brock's voice muffled through the walls, in the hallway saying Celeste hadn't come back the night before and that he was worried about her. She felt a pang of guilt, and she even felt selfish. But she hadn't done anything wrong. He had.

_Yeah, Celeste, you didn't do anything wrong...except for spend the night with another man_, she thought to herself. It didn't matter if anything happened or not. She still woke up and enjoyed the feeling of Mark's skin pressed against hers. She wanted to sit up again, but Mark's arm wrapped firmly around her waist told her she wasn't moving.

"Celeste?"

"What?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I guess that's debatable," she replied, nestling her head against him. "Is it natural to feel like a slut for spending the night with you?"

"Ouch."

"You know what I mean." He chuckled.

"Nothing happened, so there's nothing to feel guilty about." He shook his head. "Sweetheart, you've got to get over this 'you're a slut for making any kind of human contact thing' you've got going on. You came here last night because you needed comfort. And if you ever need it again, don't ever hesitate to come to me. Are we clear on that?" She felt him nod against his chest. Her hair scraping against his stomach was sending signals all over his body, but he kept himself calm.

"I'm no good for you, Mark," she replied, her voice soft. "Brock is going to hurt you so bad when he finds out we've been hanging out...and this...Christ, never mind you, he'll kill me..."

"He's not going to kill you because he's not going to find out," he told her, sitting up. She sat up as well. He took her chin in his hands and moved her face. "Let me look at you..." Her cheek was purple. It had been a hell of a shot.

"Is it bad?" she asked.

"As opposed to good?" he asked. A small sound escaped her and she smiled. "You have a beautiful smile, Celeste. It's a damn shame we don't see it very much." She blushed; it had been so long since she had a compliment about anything.

There was a long silence. She felt small under Mark's gaze. He liked the way the pinkish blush made its way up her neck to her cheeks. _Stop, Mark. This is Brock Lesnar's girlfriend._ "What do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Are you going to stay here, or are you going home?" he asked. She sighed.

"I don't think I can go home right now," she replied, gingerly touching her face. "If my mom sees this, she's going to freak." She sighed. "She's never liked Brock anyways."

"Why?"

"Brock got arrested when he was in OVW," Celeste confided with a sigh after a few minutes.

"What for?"

"They thought he had steroids in the car with him. It was just protein powder, but they arrested him nonetheless. Anyways, my mom took that as Brock is a steroid addict and told me I was lucky that I wasn't with him at the time, but not before going off on a tangeant about him having roid rage and beating on me..."

"She's right about that," he told her. "You could have been arrested too."

"I know. I've heard that one before a million times," she replied. "But it wasn't steroids."

"Then why did they pull him over?"

"I don't know," she confessed sheepishly. "Brock's never told me." She shook her head. "Brock doesn't tell me a lot of things a lot of the time, Mark." She fell silent for a second. "Can I confess something to you, Mark?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Truthfully...I don't think Brock loves me anymore." She could feel the tears pricking the back of her eyes. Mark's expression softened. "Since he's been brought up here, he just hasn't been interested in me anymore. We...we don't even make love as much as we used to..." a vibrant red blush crawled up her skin at the revelation. "And when we do...it's not like he cares about how I'm feeling..." She sighed. "Too much information, I know...but, we're hardly even communicating, so it's like... if we can't even get the sex right, then what's the point?" He felt terrible for her. "I've been with Brock for close to six years now, and it's like...if this is how it's going to be, is it even worth it?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mark. I know you probably don't need to be hearing about my problems. Especially with Unforgiven coming up so quickly."

"Don't even think about it like that." He shrugged. "Everyone needs the chance to vent."

"I'm sorry I hit you the other day," she said softly, sheepishly. He chuckled.

"Don't even think about it," he replied. "I deserved it. I can be a real prick sometimes."

"I still like you."

"That's good to hear," he said with a smile. "If it's any consolation, I like you, too. Now, how about you wait here and I'll go get breakfast and from there we'll decide what you're going to do. Is that fine?" She nodded and he stood, standing still for a second.

"Mark?"

"I'm fine. Just some wear and tear." He straightened up and slid his shoes on. "I'll be back in five." She nodded and he left. She stood to her feet and began to pace around the room. She was in trouble. She definitely should have gone back to her room the night before. Brock was going to flip when she got back. Celeste didn't even know who she was going to say she was with. If Mark's name even crossed her lips she'd be in severe trouble. If not from Brock, from Paul Heyman.

The worst part was that she enjoyed being with Mark, even if she was just curled up in his arms. She felt terrible for hitting him two days before. He hadn't even hesitated to let her into his hotel room when she had knocked, trying to keep the sobs silent so Brock wouldn't hear. He had gone out the night before. She had heard it. Heard his door slam. Was he looking for her? Or had her accusation thrown him over the edge?

She didn't trust Brock anymore. And she was more or less afraid of him now, knowing that he wouldn't hesitate to put his hands on her. Would leaving be the right thing? He would still track her down on days off. Did she really want to leave Mark?

She shook her head. Mark probably had a girlfriend. He was just trying to do the right thing. Show her some pity. The thought made her angry.

The door opened and Mark came back in, with two cups of coffee and a paper bag. He placed them on the counter and examined the look on her face. "Celeste, you okay?"

She nodded with a sigh. "Just thinking."

"Well, let's get you fed before you think too much. You're fading away in front of me." She laughed and made her way over to him and gave him a hug. He was taken aback. "What's this for?"

"Thank you for putting up with me," she said sheepishly. "I really appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it," he told her. "You're a sweet girl. Now, let's deal with breakfast before it gets cold." She nodded and he handed her a coffee.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

The hotel room door opened and Celeste walked into the dimly lit room. She couldn't keep the shock off of her face when she noticed Brock was sitting on the bed, dressed in a pair of black gym shorts, already showered and cleaned up from his day with Paul. He usually didn't return until later, so she knew that he had cut the training short. She could only imagine how Paul must have reacted. His eyes snapped to her profile, and his eyes brightened. "Celeste..."

"Stay away from me, Brock." She grabbed her suitcase from the closet. Brock's eyes widened and he stood to his feet. He figured she would have come back sooner, with no place to go the night before, and would have been more than happy to stay. He hoped, if anything else, that the shot he had taken last night would have at least made her stay, if not for anything more than fear. It appeared though he was wrong. She stalked past him and his breath caught when he noticed the purple bruise on her cheek. He didn't think he had struck her that hard.

"Where were you last night?" he asked, trying to keep his tone gentle. He had to be really careful with how he treaded now. "I looked everywhere for you!"

"None of your business," she replied, grabbing a stack of her shirts and putting them in the suitcase. "All you need to know is I'm going home."

"Home? Home is here, Celeste; you aren't going anywhere," he replied firmly, taking a stack of T-shirts out of the suitcase. She slapped them out of his hand and they landed in a disheveled pile at the bottom of the suitcase. He cocked an incredulous eyebrow and stared at her. _Just who in the hell does she think she is?_ he thought. She appeared to be pretty firm this time around.

"I'm leaving, Brock. You have no physical right to keep me here," she informed him. Brock stood back and watched her, shaking his head. She was mumbling the whole time, words that weren't quite registering with him, moving back and forth between the dresser and the suitcase. Brock knew he had crossed the line the night before. This time he was pretty sure that she'd find a way to leave. But he was still going to try and make her stay by any means necessary. Nobody ever left Brock Lesnar. He'd leave them first.

He tried to be polite one more time. "Celeste...please stay."

"It's too late for that, Brock. It might be better for the two of us if we just had some time apart." The words knocked the wind out of her...and out of him as well. She could read his thoughts. _Is she serious?_

"Celeste, you can't mean that..."

"The bruise on my face tells me I mean it," she replied, putting her lingerie in the suitcase. "I never thought you'd do something like that, Brock. For all of your faults, I never thought..."

"Celeste..." She held up a hand.

"Don't." She shook her head. "I don't want to hear it right now. I just want to go home. The more distance I can put between you and I at the moment, the better." The words broke his heart, but irritated him. _Doesn't she think she's blowing this out of proportion just a little bit?_ He decided to keep humoring her.

"Celeste...tell me we can work through this."

"I don't know what I can tell you at the moment," she replied. "Other than I need to be alone right now."

He became agitated, and something clicked with him. "Who were you with last night? That's why you're leaving, isn't it? You were off with Mark!"

"You've gone off the deep end," she replied calmly, closing and zipping the suitcase. The calmness in her voice pissed him off. "I'm not staying here to deal with your paranoia. I'm off."

"To hell you are," he raged, grabbing her arm. She wheeled around to face him, her eyes shooting hazel sparks.

"Get your hands off of me," she snapped. "I'm leaving, and there isn't anything that you can do to stop me." He smirked.

"Really?" He shook his head, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "You were off with Mark last night weren't you?" He shook his head in disgust. "You probably fucked him."

"That must be your guilty conscience talking," she retorted. His eyes clouded over with rage and he pushed her back, hard against the wall. She cried out in pain as the corner slammed against her spine and her head hit the wall. She wanted to touch the back of her head, try and soothe the stinging, but he was gripping her arms tightly.

"You listen to me, Celeste," he growled. "I won't stand for you accusing me of cheating.

"The first thing you're going to do is unpack your fucking suitcase. Then you're going to crawl into bed. And if I even hear the name 'Mark' on your fucking lips, you'll regret the day you ever came out here. Are we clear?"

"The day _I _came out here? Do I need to remind you that _you_ dragged me out here," she spat. She tried to push him away, but he just pushed against her harder, causing her to cry out. She was determined to let him have it though. She was terrified, but she needed to tell him off. "So what? It's fine for you to accuse me of cheating when I'm locked in a hotel room twenty-four hours a day? But I can't do the same to you? That's really balanced. Brock, you're not the same person I fell in love with...and, to be honest, I don't think I love you anymore. Not this fucked up incarnation of Brock Lesnar, anyway."

Brock scoffed. "Get the fuck out of my face with that bullshit. It was a fucking love tap, Celeste. You're just blowing a gasket over nothing. Get your stuff back in the room and get into bed. We'll work it out in the morning."

"That's the thing, Brock," she told him, her tone soft, yet firm. "I don't think it's worth working out." His face contorted with blind rage and he grabbed her roughly, dragging her back into the bedroom area. She started to shout at him to let her go, but he threw her on the bed. He was on her in seconds.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

"I can't do that, Mark. It's not a good idea for either of us. If Brock finds out..."

"He won't," he assured her. He looked at her swollen wrists.She had awakened that morning handcuffed to the bed; Brock's paranoid way of keeping her at bay while he took off for the day with Paul Heyman. She realized he must have done it when she had finallyfallen asleep last night. He had been incredibly rough with her, and she could hardly stand from all the pain that she was feeling. She had managed to get the phone over to her by contorting her legs and had even dialed with her toes, messing up several times before finally getting Mark's room right. Not knowing what to do, he had rushed to Stephanie and had gotten a keycard for Brock's room, coming armed with a fewsteak knivesto try and pick the lock. Now, Stephaniewas going to track him down and work on keeping Brock distracted while Mark helped Celeste pack up the last of her things. He grabbed a piece of stationary and a pen and quickly jotted his address down. "This is the address. There's a lockbox with a key just under the mailbox by the front door. I'll be there in a couple days. You just rest up and get the bruising down." She nodded; accompanying the giant mark on her cheek was nowa black eye from the night before. He handed her his sunglasses. "Hopefully that makes you a little inconspicuous." She nodded and he saw the tears welling up. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"I just didn't think it would come to this," she said, her voice almost a whisper. He gathered her in his arms.

"I know, honey. Just follow my lead here, okay? Stay at my place - if anything else, at least we know he won't find you there. Don't tell anyone where you are. I'll be back on Thursday and maybe we'll catch a movie or something, all right?" She shook her head; she didn't even want to leave the hotel room looking as beat up as she did. "Come on, Celeste, keep your head up - we'll figure something out. Now come on. I'll walk you to your cab." He took her suitcase and she followed him solemnly out the door, throwing her keycard on the floor.

The plane ride itselfwas peaceful. She couldn't believe how nice Mark was being to her. She wasworried about Brock harassing her family in hopes of finding her. They didn't know where she was, but there was an inkling of fear that Brock could be violent with them as he had been with her. She sighed. She needed to stop thinking like that. For now, it was best that she lay low until things between Mark and Brock blew over, and at least until Brock quit thinking about her.

Mark said he'd be back Thursday. She was a little nervous to see him. She wanted to blame him for everything that had gone wrong between her and Brock, but she knew better. Things were wrong long before Mark decided he wanted to talk to her. It was just her talking to Mark that had brought everything up to the forefront. She valued everything he had done for her since they had spoken that night, but she still wished that things weren't the way that they were.

The plane would be landing inHouston in about forty-five minutes. There was an elderly woman sitting beside her constantly staring at the bruising on her face. She had asked what had happened and Celeste had told her it was a sports injury. It wasn't a complete lie; she'd been manhandled by an athlete. The woman had nodded and gone back to her romance novel; however, Celeste could still feel the woman's eyes on her. With a deep sigh and a small twitch of pain in her eye, she kept her eyes focused out on the darkened window in front of her. Things had gotten bad, and she could only imagine they were going to get worse if Brock Lesnar managed to find her.

"How in the fuck did she manage to get out of here?" Brock raged. "I had the fucking bitch handcuffed!"

"Brock, now's not the time," Paul replied. "Your match is in a week. You need to keep a clear head. Fuck her. Let her go. She's done nothing but cause you trouble anyways."

"Shut up, Paul!" he shouted. He kicked at a chair. "Can't turn my fucking back!" he shouted. "I'll bet you anything she ran off with Mark...I'll fucking put my money on it."

"She couldn't have run away with him," Paul replied. "I saw him downstairs with the APA, drinking."

"She's probably holed up in his hotel room." He shook his head. "I can't fucking believe this shit!" Paul shook his head. He hoped to hell he could focus Brock in time for his match the following weekend.

"Where is she?"

Mark looked up to see Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman at the table. Trish, Bradshaw, Ron Simmons, Amy Dumas and the Hardyz looked at Mark. "Who?" he asked after the initial shock he played up had died down. He knew exactly who they were looking for.

"Don't play games with us, Deadman, where is Brock Lesnar's girlfriend?" Paul raged. Amy, Trish, Matt and Jeff instantly looked at Mark, eyebrows cocked.

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "I haven't seen her since last night." Trish and Bradshaw'sjaws dropped while the Hardyz chuckledand Brock tried to lunge.

"You son of a..."

"Hey...just what in the hell is going on here?"

Mark looked up to see Vince McMahon, the boss himself, standing behind them, his features contorted in an irritated scowl. Everybody fell silent. Vince's eyes narrowed. It became obvious after a few minutes that nobody planned to speak. "Well, somebody, speak."

"He's got my fucking girlfriend!" Brock shouted. Mark bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Is this true, Deadman?"

"No, it's not true. I don't know where the hell she is." Mark scowled. "He obviously hasn't been keeping his eye on her very well. Brock's looking to start some trouble here, Vince. It may be a wise decision to reign in those two now before it gets out of hand." Paul's eyes bulged when Vince nodded in agreement.

"You two, come with me." Brock shot a murderous glare at Mark, but disappeared out of the restaurant area with Vince. Everyone was on Mark when the men were out of earshot.

"Where is she, Mark?" Trish asked sternly.

"She's fine. Safe," he remarked. He sighed. "Get the thoughts out of your head, guys. She came by the hotel room the other night after he leveled her." The girls gasped. "She spent the night...nothing happened...but I couldn't let her go back to that."

"She did, though, didn't she?" Amy asked. He nodded.

"She called me this morning from her hotel room. He had cuffed her to the bed to make sure that she didn't go anywhere. She dialed the phone with her feet, for Christ's sakes. Steph got a copy of their keycard and I got her unlocked, packed and out of there."

"Where is she?" Matt asked. Mark shook his head.

"I'm not saying fuck all about that," he replied, taking a sip of his beer. "For the sake of her safety, I'm staying quiet. Just know she's safe." Trish sighed and sipped her beer again. "Lighten up, Trish.If you're so goddamn worried about her,I'll get her to call you, all right?" Trish nodded. "I just couldn't keep her there, guys."

"Just be careful what you're doing, Deadman. I have the feeling he's going to stop at nothing to make sure she gets back to him...and whenhe finds herit's going to be dangerous." Bradshaw took a shot.

"Don't I know it." Mark sighed. The situation was getting more and more messed up by the minute.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

Celeste found the lockbox under the mailbox, and, true to Mark's word, the key was under there, rested inside a black magnetic key box. Unlocking the front door, she made her way quietly inside, quickly locking the door behind her. She knew that she was safe at the moment, but there was still an aura of paranoia that surrounded her. The place was nice, a ranch style home on a big patch of land. She slid her shoes off and placed her suitcase down beside the door. The phone was ringing. She contemplated whether or not she should answer it. She didn't feel right answering Mark's phone when it wasn't her home.

The machine beeped and she made a beeline to the kitchen when Mark's voice broke through. "Hey, Celeste, it's Mark. I thought you would have made it by now..."

She answered the phone, almost dropping it. "Mark! Mark! I'm here!"

"Well, looks like you did make it," he said with a chuckle.

"I just got in," she answered. "What's up for your night?"

"Just got in myself. I went drinking with some friends tonight." He decided to omit Brock's visit to their table. The last thing that he wanted to do was worry her about what was going on in the company. "So I thought I'd ice down the knees a bit, watch the news and get some sleep. How about you?"

"Clean up...maybe unpack a little bit, ice down my face and then get some sleep."

"How are the bruises looking?"

"Fine, I guess," she replied. "Even with the sunglasses I was getting stares on the plane." She sighed. "I'll live though. I'm sure you've had to go through that a few times..."

"We've all had to go through that multiple times; you don't even know," he answered with a chuckle. "I'll be back late tomorrow night. Vince just wants me to make a stop on the way to do some Unforgiven promotion. I have to admit - that's the best thing about being the American Badass - at least I'm allowed to give interviews."

"You're not allowed to when you're all undead?"

"No. It's for the sake of a character, so I can't give interviews, which kind of sucks," he replied. "Vince thinks I don't have a voicebox when I'm gothic, I think." They both laughed. "Was the flight all right?"

"The flight was fine," she answered. She was silent for a few minutes. She could sense that he wasn't telling her everything about his day. She had the feeling that he had a run in with Brock. "He came after you today, didn't he?"

He took a deep breath and it gave her the answer. "Don't worry about it, Celeste," he told her. "He didn't try anything. He didn't even have the chance to. Just take a deep breath and relax. Try not to think of him tonight, all right? I know it's difficult, but just relax. Now, I've got somebody here who wants to talk to you."

"What?" She was baffled. She heard him grumble something on the other end and then heard the phone change hands.

"Girlie!"

"Who is this?"

"It's Trish?"

"Stratus?"

"Who else?"

"Hi," she said with a laugh. "How are you?"

"I'm great. Mark here has been driving all of us absolutely insane keeping you under wraps. You're safe?"

"I'm safe and sound," she replied with a smile. "I can't thank Mark enough for dealing with me as much as he has."

"Think nothing of it. He's been more than happy to help. He raves about you all the time."

"Oh?" She felt a blush crawling across her face and she heard Mark shouting on the other end of the phone. A smile spread across her features.

"I've got to go. Mark's raving like a lunatic. I'll talk to you soon. You'd better at least get out here for _No Mercy_."

"I'll think about it." Trish bid her goodbye and the phone went back to Mark.

"Everyone here has been going crazy asking me if you're safe. I think you have quite a fan base on this end."

"Well, I guess that kind of keeps them satisfied, doesn't it?"

"If you don't want to come out for _No Mercy_, Celeste, I understand completely."

"What's the verdict for _No Mercy_?"

"Hell in a Cell. Word around WWE is that it's considered my match, so I'm not too worried. But if you're not comfortable with being here, I wouldn't ask you to come out."

"Truthfully, Mark, I don't think it's a good idea in the slightest that I show up at _No Mercy_ right now. Maybe at a pay-per-view a little further down the line...but right now, I just don't think it's good for any of us, you know? I would hate to think of anything happening to anyone because of me..."

"I know," he told her. "I get what you mean. I wouldn't recommend it myself unless you had a huge death wish. Anyways, I should get going and get these knees iced down. You just get yourself some rest tonight and I'll see you tomorrow sometime, okay?"

"All right, Mark. Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Think nothing of it," he told her. "Just rest easy tonight. Goodnight, Celeste."

"Goodnight, Mark." They hung up the phone with one another and Celeste leaned against the wall. Everything was so complicated. And she couldn't help but wonder just what Brock was doing to try and find her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

Mark pulled the car in the driveway and smiled. It was always a welcome sight to see his home, since he was away from it all the time.

Celeste had been on his mind all night. Was she adjusting all right to life in his home? Was she all right? How was she healing? This was dangerous territory; he knew it. Brock had found the number to his hotel room and had been harassing him all night, demanding to know where Celeste was. The more Mark continued to play dumb, the more irate Brock seemed to get. But it didn't bother Mark. At the moment, he just felt relieved that Brock Lesnar couldn't get his hands on Celeste.

Mark killed the ignition and got out of the car. The sun was starting to fade away, the sky starting to turn a deep shade of blue. He made his way up the front steps and unlocked the front door. He was relieved that she'd at least been keeping the doors locked.

Opening the door and walking inside, his face darkened in concern. The entire house was dark. "Celeste?" he called out. There was no answer. He made his way down the long hallway towards the living room. He found her passed out on a recliner, curled up in the fetal position awkwardly. The television was replaying an old episode of the Simpsons; the episode where Homer tried to cross Springfield Gorge on a skateboard. He smiled; she looked so sweet, despite the injuries.

"Celeste, honey," he soothed, shaking her gently. She jumped, frightened initially, before her eyes adjusted on Mark. She flashed him a soft smile.

"Mark. How was your flight?"

"It was fine," he replied. The truth was it had been inconvenient; he was too tall for the seat he was in. "Glad to be home. Have you eaten yet?" She shook her head. "What say we go out?"

She shook her head. "No thanks, Mark," she replied, rotating her neck to try and get the kinks out. "If it's all the same, I'd rather just stay in. Anyways, you just got in from a flight." He nodded; the subtext was there. She didn't want to go out because her face was still bruised up. He wasn't about to push the issue. "No. I think what I'll do is let you go clean yourself up and settle in and while you're doing that, I'll make dinner. Does that sound like a plan?" He nodded. "Good. Go have a shower and I'll get dinner started."

Mark was reluctant, but he made his way up the stairs nonetheless. Celeste got up from the couch and made her way into the kitchen to get dinner started. She was glad he was back. She hated being alone in the house. Every creak, every bump in the night made her nervous. Pulling out a frying pan from one of the cupboards, Celeste placed it on the stove and thought about things for a second. She was running away from Brock Lesnar; who outweighed her. Mark was a bigger guy than Brock, but she knew that Brock could hurt him if he set his mind to it. She shook her head; if she was going to maintain some semblance of her sanity, then she would just take a deep breath and quit thinking so much. She was going to make quesidillas and salad for dinner. She shook her head. She felt guilty for getting Mark into trouble. She knew it was going to get really bad before it got better.

*****

Mark came down from his shower, changed into a pair of black drawstring sweatpants and an old black Harley Davidson T-shirt. He saw Celeste in the kitchen, her back to him, leaned against the counter. He knew what she was thinking. It didn't take a rocket scientist. She was thinking about Brock Lesnar. And what Brock Lesnar was going to do if he got his hands on the two of them. It didn't even matter that Mark wasn't sleeping with her; to Brock, she was guilty because she had run off. The thought made him sick. She was such a sweet girl; how anybody could treat her so terribly was beyond him.

"Celeste?" His voice was soft, but she jolted, startled, nonetheless. She looked over at Mark. She could never thank him enough for everything that he had done for her since everything had gone down with Brock. She flashed him a quick smile.

"How was your shower?" she asked. He flashed her a reassuring smile.

"Great," he told her. "What are you making?"

"Quesidillas and Caesar salad. That sound all right?" He nodded. The truth was, he had eaten with a couple of the guys when they had gotten off of the plane. He was just hoping to get her out of the house. He knew that she hadn't left since she had arrived the day before; she was paranoid to leave. He knew that she was sure she was going to run into Brock Lesnar, and that things were going to get out of hand, especially when Mark wasn't there. He was worried she was going to become agoraphobic; afraid to leave the house, afraid to live her life because of the idea that she could be found by Brock Lesnar, or even worse, Paul Heyman.

Putting a gentle hand on her shoulder, he turned her to face him. When she cocked an eyebrow, he explained, "I just want to take a look at you." Her face flashed red, and he knew that she was embarassed for putting herself in this situation. His fingers lightly roamed over the bruise on her cheek before his thumb brushed over her eye. She winced in pain. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I don't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to..."

"It's okay," she said softly, the tears threatening to spill over. She flipped over a tortilla so it didn't burn. "I'm fine, Mark. Really."

"I don't doubt that. You're looking better than you were the last time I saw you." She smirked softly.

"Look, I don't know if I told you this, but...thank you for everything you've done for me," she told him, keeping her eyes downcasted to the quesadilla frying in the pan. "I don't know where I would be without you at the moment."

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "Look, why don't you go clean up before dinner and I'll finish up here." She stared at him oddly.

"Are you sure? I mean, you just got in and..."

"Go upstairs and just get ready for dinner, all right?" She was worried he was mad for a second, but the amused gleam in his eye said otherwise. She smiled softly and nodded before disappearing up the stairs. He shook his head.

He was worried about her. The fear of being discovered, and the fear of her family being targeted by Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman was torturing her mind. There was nothing he could do to alleviate it, either.

**

Celeste stared into the mirror, trying to keep stone-faced. She wanted to cry at her battered appearance. She couldn't understand how Mark could look at her without thinking she was a total idiot. She splashed some cold water on her face, the nerves under the bruises flaring up when the cold water hit.

Taking a white hand towel off of the towel rack, she dried off her face and stared at her reflection some more. She sincerely thought she was going to be with Brock forever. Now, here she was, in the home of another man, getting ready to have dinner with him. She wanted to be sarcastic about the situation; but she felt so safe knowing Mark was downstairs; even if she was worried about Brock. He was The Undertaker after all; people had to have a death wish if they wanted to try anything with them. She gazed at her appearance; there was a new look in her eyes; it was a wild look, fear-driven without a doubt. She knew things were going to get ugly before she could settle into a new life. One that she knew had to be without Brock. But as much as the thought hurt her, she couldn't cry.

"Celeste? You all right!"

Mark's voice cut into her thoughts and she looked at the closed door. "F...fine," she said, shaking her head, her intense eyes staring into the mirror.

"Well, dinner's ready, so whenever you're good to go, I'll meet you downstairs." She heard the familiar sound of his footsteps treading down the stairs. With a sigh and a deep breath, she opened the door and made her way down the stairs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

Brock Lesnar rolled off of Torrie Wilson, who was coming down from the instant high that he had given her. Laying back on his hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling, he was still thinking of Celeste. The truth was, he could have cared less about Torrie Wilson, a blonde Diva who was in secret referred to as the company bicycle; at the moment, he wondered just what Celeste was doing with Mark. He wasn't stupid; no matter what was said around the backstage area, he knew that she had run to him for comfort.

"Oh, Brock," Torrie breathed, "that...was...incredible." Brock could have really cared less about what Torrie thought. If he wanted his ego sated, he'd let Paul take the lead.

He wondered how Celeste had found out that he was screwing around with other Divas while she was locked up in the locker room. She was so sweet, young and naive that she never would have thought to even go looking for him. And after all the time they had been together, she never would have suspected, let alone accused him, in a million years of cheating on her.

He felt Torrie's fingers work their way up his arms. She enjoyed the way his muscles twitched under her touch. She placed a kiss on his chest. "What are you thinking about, Brock?" He wouldn't answer her; he only stared up at the ceiling; his blue eyes vacant. He didn't feel she was a "great lay"; the truth was, he cheated because he knew he could get away with it. And while Celeste was gone, he had a lot of tension to relieve. Being the champion was a heavy burden; he was always training. And now with Celeste missing, he was worrying about just how he was going to start finding her. Her own family hadn't heard from her. He had spent the last several days tormenting her brother Jacob. After awhile, Brock realized that he was telling the truth and really had no idea where Celeste was. He would go to her sister Elise when he had some time off. Elise and Celeste had always been close; he was certain he would be able to find her.

Torrie tossed a strand of her hair over her shoulder and fumed. "Fuck this," she murmured under her breath, reaching for her black negligee.

"What?" Brock asked with an agitated sigh as she slid it on over her head. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Leaving. It's one thing to play your sidepiece, Brock, but she's fucking gone. And from the looks of it, I'm not going to compare to her, anyways."

"Are you fucking serious?" he grumbled. She had a point; he loved Celeste, even if things were sour between them at the moment. He watched vacantly as Torrie slid her jacket on over her negligee and started doing it up, an ugly scowl marring her beautiful features. She shook her head.

"Well, aren't you going to fucking say something?" she snapped. She was half-hoping for him to quell her insecurities. Brock just scoffed.

"You're still here?"

"You're a real fucking pig," she snarled. "No wonder Celeste left you." Brock went to get out of bed, and Torrie knew she had crossed the line. She was out of the hotel room in a flash, leaving Brock standing in his hotel room, fuming at the door.

**

Celeste stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a white cotton nightgown, brushing her hair. She sighed; she was a little younger than Brock, but she dressed like an old woman. She sighed. _No wonder Brock cheated_, Celeste thought bitterly, brushing hard on a knot. _How the hell does a woman in a granny nightie compete with girls in garters?_ She shook her head and put the brush down on the nightstand.

Pulling back the thick purple blankets with the gold crescent moons stitched into the pattern, she lay down in bed, resting her head against the matching pillow case. There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Mark made his way inside. "Just wanted to come and make sure you were comfortable," he replied, sitting down at the edge of her bed. "Are you all right? You were pretty quiet at dinner."

"I'm as all right as I'm going to be, I guess," she replied, biting her lower lip. She didn't really know what to say to Mark about the situation. "I guess I'm just so tired..."

He brushed a caramel strand out of her face, a soft smile snaking across his features. "I understand. If you need anything, I'm just down the hall, all right?" She nodded. "I'll see you in the morning." He stood to his feet and left. Celeste sighed. _Everything always has to be so fucking awkward._

**

The bedroom door burst open, causing Celeste to sit up swiftly, her eyes widening in fear as she saw Brock standing in the doorframe, his eyes blazing, his lips curled back into the ugliest snarl she had ever seen. She scrambled to get out of bed, but he was on her in a flash, pinning her roughly down to the mattress.

"Did you really think you were going to get away?" he asked her, snarling, drooling on her nightgown. She squirmed and thrashed underneath him.

"Mark!" she screamed. She squirmed and screamed out while Brock leaned over her, his breath hot in her neck.

"Scream all you want, Celeste," he told her, his grip tightening on her wrists. "Nobody's going to hear you." She continued to screech and scream as his lips crashed down over hers.

**

"Celeste! Jesus Christ, woman, wake up!"

Celeste's eyes flashed open as she continued to scream and struggle initially, stopping when she stared into the familiar face of Mark. She looked around before ripping out of his grasp and moving further up the bed, to an extent where she was practically gripping the headboard to stay in her spot. Her breathing was hitched and labored, her chest rising and falling quickly with each attempt to suck in a breath.

"Calm down, Celeste, it's just me."

"He...He was here! Fuck!" Mark cocked an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Brock!" She slid down onto the pillow and clutched her arms around herself. "He was here. I saw him..."

"You were having a nightmare," he informed her. "There's only you, me, and Zeus in the house. Trust me."

"Mark, I saw him. I felt his breath on me. I felt him pin me down..." she lost her train of speech and silenced as Mark gathered her into his arms and held her.

"Look, honey, if you're really convinced he's here, we'll scout the perimeter and I'll show you, he's not here. Guy has no idea where I even live."

"Like it's hard for him to find out." She sighed. He could feel her shaking against him.

"Look, if it'll make you feel any better, you can come stay with Zeus and I in my room." She sighed.

"That might be a good idea," she murmured, running a hand through her hair. "Jesus Christ, I'm losing it."

"You're not losing it," he assured her. "You've just been through a lot. Come on." She slid out of bed and he draped a comforting arm around her, leading her out of the room. She constantly looked back at the bed. She could still feel his breath in her ear, and it freaked her out.

**

"You must think I'm a total wuss."

"I don't think you're a wuss," Mark chuckled, settling her into the left side of his bed. Zeus, his Mastiff, was rested along the edge of the bed. "Your head is just reacting to everything that's happened." He climbed into the right side of the bed, settling under the covers before turning off the light. "Frankly, I'd be worried if you weren't a little upset."

"I should have seen this all coming with Brock, Mark," she sighed, staring into the darkness.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to compete with women who spend their days in next to nothing? Brock wants the glamor and the perks and the beautiful women...everything this life has to offer him. I should have known that eventually, the happy picture would fade out, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why did I think Brock would stay faithful? Because he told me he would? This business changed him, Mark, and it wasn't for the better. And I kind of knew that. But I understood that he had the wrestling credentials to succeed here, and there wasn't a huge, lucrative career for him in amateur." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to rant."

"Don't worry about it. You need to get it out somehow," he told her. "Look, I'm not going to make excuses for Brock, or for his cheating. But this road that he's taking...a lot of men have taken this road. The fast lifestyle, the easy drugs, the cheap women. It's kind of the seedy side of the business."

"You ever walk that path, Mark?" she asked, rolling onto her side. The dog made an inaudible noise and stared up at Mark and Celeste. He sighed.

"Yeah, when I was young and real stupid. But there was a difference."

"And what would that be?"

"For one, I wasn't with anybody." She nodded. He sighed. "I know you're worried, hon, but don't be. You're perfectly safe here." She nodded, but he knew he didn't have her convinced. Her trust, her faith was shaken. And she was in total fear of the idea that Brock would find her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

She woke up in the morning, her eyes opening to stare at the ceiling coated in light. Rolling onto her side, she was surprised to find Mark gone, Zeus was with him. She sighed; Mark would be back on the road within the next couple of days, and then she wondered what she was going to do if she had a nightmare, or if Brock really did find her.

Sitting up in bed, allowing the blankets to fall, she sighed. Knowing she was next to Mark the previous night, the nightmares hadn't come back. She still felt the fear she had felt when the vivid image of Brock had frightened her so badly. There was nothing scarier than the gruesome visage of his face contorted with rage as he held her beneath him.

Celeste shook her head; she needed to quit thinking. Pulling the blankets back, she got out of bed and made her way to the bedroom window, staring out into the backyard. Zeus was outside, meandering about the backyard. Crossing her arms over her chest, she made her way out of the bedroom and down the hallway to where she heard clanging in the kitchen.

"Morning, Mark."

He jumped slightly, and turned with his coffee to face her. "Morning, Celeste. How did you sleep?"

"I slept all right." She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a mug. "I could go for a coffee." He grabbed the pot and poured her a cup. He went to the fridge and grabbed some cream while she grabbed the sugar bowl. She fixed her coffee and took a sip. She took a deep breath. "When do you go back on the road?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." She nodded. "I'm assuming that you don't want to come on the road with me." She shook her head.

"Too risky." She sighed. "Last thing I need is Brock sending me kicking and screaming back with him." Mark nodded. He understood her paranoia. He could only imagine it was heightened by the fading bruises on her face.

"Your face looks better," he told her gently. She stared at him, a smirk crossing her face as she sipped her coffee. He was on the ball before she could speak. "I didn't mean it like that," he insisted. "I just mean that the bruising has gone down." She smiled.

"I know what you meant," she replied. He flashed her a grin as he put his coffee cup on the counter.

"Look, when I get home next week, how about I take you out for dinner? You can't stay locked up in here. It's not right."

"I don't know, Mark..." She had ended things with Brock. And she had meant it. Especially after he had laid his hands on her. She knew that Mark was attracted to her; it was something she could pick up on. She would be lying if she didn't say she was attracted to him; but Brock Lesnar created more stress on her mind than she conceived of at the moment. And she knew Mark had a lot on his mind worrying about his upcoming match with Brock. He smiled.

"Come on; he's in Minnesota, Celeste. You have to have some kind of a life here." She sighed; he had a point. As much as she hated to admit it. She didn't know when she was going to go back to Minnesota; maybe when Brock had moved on. And when she didn't feel as though she was in any danger anymore. But she knew that was going to be a while; Brock wasn't going to let her go on her own terms. Everything about the relationship was dictated by Brock. And she was so sure that things weren't going to be over until Brock said things were over.

"Come on." Mark's voice cut into her thoughts. "Next week, we'll go for dinner, all right?"

She sighed. "Fine." She shook her head. "You're a bad influence, Mark."

"I don't hear you objecting," he answered, winking. With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she put the empty mug on the counter and made her way into the living room. Mark followed behind, sipping his coffee. She sat down on the couch and Mark sat down beside her.

"Did you want breakfast?" he asked. She shook her head. "Celeste, you haven't really been eating."

"Just not hungry," she answered. "Too much to deal with." Mark sighed; he was worried about her dropping all sorts of weight. She was small enough that he wasn't sure she could afford to lose weight. She turned on the television to a news channel and placed the remote between them. She kept her eyes away from Mark and just watched TV. He was fascinated with her; taken with her. He wondered if she was embarassed over what had happened the night before with her nightmare. The fact that she was having nightmares unnerved him. He would just have to take care of Brock Lesnar and make sure he never stepped foot near Celeste again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Deadman!"

Mark looked up from the catering table, holding a cup of coffee. His entire body sank in irritation as Paul Heyman waddled his way towards him. "What?"

"We need to talk."

"What? You going to ask me to go easy on your boy at _Unforgiven_?" he asked incredulously, smirking a demonic grin as he sipped on his coffee. Paul Heyman shook his head.

"No. Far from it. Brock Lesnar is going to demolish you just like he demolished the Rock at _SummerSlam._" Paul shook his head. "I don't need to ask him to go easy. What I am asking though, is that you give him back his girlfriend."

"Come again?" Mark cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You heard me. I know the little bitch ran away with you. She's always causing so much trouble for Brock."

"Okay, so let me get this straight: she's a little bitch who always causes problems...why do you guys want her back so bad?"

"Because Brock seems to be convinced that he's in love with her," Paul said with a roll of his eyes. "Such idealism. You know how it goes. Bring her to _Unforgiven_ and I'll tell Brock to take it easy on you. You'll only spend two days in the hospital instead of two months." Mark chuckled at the little fat man in front of him. He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the trashcan.

"You're assuming that I have her, Paul," he said. "She's a free woman. She does whatever she wants. You're looking at the wrong guy." With that, he made his way down the hallway, leaving Paul fuming.

**

"You have her, don't you?"

"That's not the point, Steph. She's a free woman. If she wanted to go back to them, she would have gone back to them by now." Stephanie shot him a look. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not holding her hostage. She's free to go when she feels the need to."

"You seriously had better hope you know what you're doing," Stephanie replied with a shake of her head. "_Unforgiven_ is in three days. Brock Lesnar wants to tear you limb from limb because he isn't a total idiot. He knows that Celeste is somewhere with you. Paul Heyman is probably in Brock's locker room telling him that you're lying and filling his head with all sorts of suspicion and paranoia." Mark nodded. "So what are you going to do about the situation?"

"I'm gonna handle my business," Mark said, "I'm chasing the title. He's making this about Celeste. Her face is still bruised up, Steph. She's been battered and beaten and she's calling me for help and what am I supposed to do? Just hand her back to the guys that are doing this to her? Fuck that." He was pacing around Stephanie McMahon's office in irritation, hands on his hips. Stephanie smirked. "What?"

"It sounds like you're making this about Celeste, too," she informed him. Mark sighed. He went to speak in his defense, but she was right. There was no sense in fighting it. "Just assure me that you know what you're doing in this situation."

"I don't," he said, "but I know that there's more at stake than just my championship dreams, all right?" Stephanie nodded and sat back in her chair, feet up on the desk.

"Well, so long as you know that," she answered, shaking her head. "How is she?"

"She's all right, I guess. Terrified. She's been having nightmares that he's tracked her down. I had to wake her up the other night and she was in such hysterics." He shook his head. "I know it's hard for her to break up with him after six years and whatnot, but let's be serious here – he brought all of this on himself." He looked at the clock on her wall. "I'm going to head to the hotel. I gotta be out in Los Angeles tomorrow night. I'll see you Sunday, Steph."

"See you Sunday, Mark. Take it easy and give my best to Celeste." Mark nodded and left the office. Stephanie shook her head. He was stepping into a bad situation.

**

Celeste stood against the kitchen counter, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white sweater, her hair back in a high ponytail. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed in concentration as she drummed her nails impatiently on the countertop.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Celeste. Goodness, where are you? Brock's been calling us non-stop. He's threatening to come out here, and we keep telling him you're not here. What's going on? Is it really nothing you can't work out with him?"

"No, Mom. It isn't. Things have been really bad with Brock and I, and this is for the best."

"Well, where are you? He's worried about you, we're all worried about you."

"I'm safe, all right?"

"Celeste, you have to tell us more than that."

"No, I don't right now. It's not really safe for me to say anything right now."

"Celeste, don't you think you're being ridiculous?"

"Mom!" Celeste's sharp tone shut her mother up. "Look, I've got to go. Just let everyone know that I'm all right. I'll be back when everything blows over."

"When everything blows..."

"Bye, Mom. Love you." She hung up the phone and hung her head in her hands. Her mother would never see Celeste's side, even if she had announced that Brock was roughing her up. Her mother loved Brock Lesnar; and always told Celeste that her and Brock were destined to be together. But things had been so screwed up that Celeste knew that her future wasn't with Brock anymore. It was hard, but she didn't really know what was her future at the moment. She was glad that she at least had a friend in Mark to help the transition; and to keep her safe during the transition.

She thought about the position she was putting Mark in. He didn't seem to mind. But she was worried about the brutality Brock was going to inflict on him. She owed him so much, and he wasn't asking for a thing in return. It just didn't seem right. She looked at the fridge; pictures of Mark with his dogs, pictures of Mark with his friends. She wished for a second that she could have those kinds of friends, that everything with Brock would just be fine.

She missed him. But something had changed, and she had missed it. Paul Heyman couldn't be blamed for the entire situation; neither could Brock's stardom in WWE. There had to be something within Brock that would make him susceptible to such behavior. So what did she miss? She shook her head. She couldn't think about it.

The phone rang again. She answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Celeste. Thought I'd check up on you. How are things around the house?"

"Fine," she answered. He caught the despondant tone in her voice.

"What's the matter, Celeste?"

"Nothing you'd want to hear about, Mark. I'm fine."

"You sure?" His tone said he was reluctant to drop the subject. She nodded.

"I promise you I'm fine. Are you getting ready for _Unforgiven_?"

"Yeah. I'm not too worried about it. What did you do today?"

"Not a whole lot," she confessed. "I curled up with Zeus and watched a movie."

"Which one?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "It was on Turner Classic."

"You're into those old movies?" he chuckled. She smiled.

"Some of them came out when you were born." Mark laughed, and Celeste smiled.

"Brat. Man, you make it seem like I'm ancient."

"You are."

"You're not that far behind," he informed her. She laughed. "Look, hon, I won't keep you for too long. I'm pretty tired and Stephanie wants to have a meeting with me. If you need anything, give me a call. All right?"

"All right, Mark. I will."

"You get some sleep."

"I will. You get some rest, too. You're going to have a hell of a fight on Sunday."

"Don't I know it. Goodnight, Celeste."

"Goodnight, Mark." She hung up the phone and sighed, staring at Mark's picture. Why did she feel like she was leading him towards his destruction?


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

Gavin Rossdale's "Adrenaline" blared through the arena as they pyrotechnics exploded in fits up the ramp, climaxing at the stage in spurts of twenty. Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler, Michael Cole and Tazz were all introducing the millions of fans around the world to Unforgiven, and promising them a great show. Jim and Jerry sent things to Michael and Tazz, who then sent things to Hugo Savinovich and Carlos Cabrera, the two Spanish commentators. It was going to be a big night on all counts. Chris Jericho and Ric Flair were having another match for Jericho's Intercontinental Championship. Billy and Chuck were taking on Rosey and Jamal for brand supremacy. It was stated if Stephanie lost, she would have to engage in HLA, much to the delight of Eric Bischoff. Triple H was putting his World Heavyweight Championship up against Rob Van Dam, and Trish Stratus was taking on Molly Holly for the Women's Championship. The main event, the last match of the night, would be the escalating rivalry between Brock Lesnar and the Undertaker, with Mark chasing after Brock's championship.

Backstage, Mark stood in his locker room, jumping from foot to foot, trying to get his adrenaline rushing before he stepped through the curtains. This was going to be a good, old-fashioned brawl, just the way he liked it. He had called Celeste before heading to the arena; she was doing all right. Still as paranoid as ever; the dream had shaken her up something awful. He knew she was taking things hard. But he commended her for being strong enough to walk away from Brock. The way he was treating her wasn't right; he hated the idea that she would think it was okay for him to treat her the way he did.

There was a knock on the door. "Yeah?" The door opened and Trish Stratus walked in, dressed in black vinyl pants and a black top, her bleached hair down around her face. She flashed him a smile.

"How's Celeste?"

"Good. Good," he told her, standing stationary. He shook his head. "She's still paranoid he's going to track her down, but I'm telling you, it's absolutely great to see her bouncing back from it."

"Has she left the house?" Trish asked with a suspicious eyebrow cocked. Mark shook his head.

"No. I'm working on that though. I told her when I get back, I'm taking her out for dinner and she can't do anything about it." He saw the look on Trish's face. "Trish, get the thought out of your head. It's just dinner. She can't be spending all her days trapped in the house. I swear to God, you and McMahon think alike." Trish smiled.

"Women's intuition never fails us, Deadman." He smirked. Trish's expression became serious.

"You haven't tried anything with her, have you?"

"What – no!" Mark shook his head. "Trish, I'm going to pretend you didn't even accuse me of it." Trish had a look on her face as though she had swallowed a glass of sour milk. She shook her head. "You ready for your match with Molly tonight?" Trish nodded.

"Rey Mysterio showed me how to do this variation of a bulldog, so I'm going to try it out in the ring tonight," Trish replied, "I don't think Molly is going to know what hit her." Mark smiled. "What about you? Strategy for Lesnar?"

"Hit him hard, hit him fast." Trish laughed; Mark shrugged. "Been doing this for twelve years. Can't argue with what works." She nodded. Paul Heyman stormed in. "Fuck, I'm popular tonight. What do you want, Shortstop?"

"I told you to bring her here," Paul snarled. "Where is she?" Mark shook his head.

"I don't know how many times I got to work it through your thick skull; I don't know where she is." Paul looked at Trish.

"She with you, Stratus?"

"If she was, I sure in the hell wouldn't tell you." Paul went to lunge at Trish, but Mark stepped in the middle.

"You're in my locker room, Heyman; think about what you're doing." Paul and Trish glared daggers at one another. Paul backed out of the room towards the door; his face marred in a scowl. "Not over."

"Just beginning," Trish snapped back. Paul walked out and the door slammed. Mark turned to Trish.

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Can you imagine what he's going to go tell Brock now?" Trish shrugged. "Trish, I'm serious. This could get dangerous for you."

"Fuck him," Trish snarled, staring at the door. "If he thinks for a second that I'm going to let them get their hands on her, they're out of their minds. If he loved Celeste so much, there wouldn't have been a reason for her to leave like that!" She let out an inaudible shriek and took a deep breath to calm down. Mark smiled; she was a firecracker. She didn't put up with a lot of stuff, and Mark had to admire that. "Look, I've got to run. Makeup, you know?" Mark nodded and she slapped hands with him. "Let me know how she's doing, all right?" He nodded.

"Be careful out here. You know they're going to be on a rampage tonight." She nodded.

"Way ahead of you, Deadman. Good luck out there."

"You, too. Break a leg."

**

Trish Stratus spotted them walking down the hall and she shook her head. They were coming towards her and she could see Brock practically salivating at her presence. And not in the good way either. She knew that Paul had put it in his head that Celeste was with her. She tried to move past them, but Brock grabbed her. She wheeled around, brown eyes blazing.

"My name's not Torrie Wilson. You will _not_ put your hands on me." She shook out of his grasp. Brock's face contorted into a scowl.

"You're the one who told her about it, weren't you, you little bitch?" he snarled. Trish stared at him, her tone just as hot as Brock's.

"If you think I'm like the other Divas, Brock, get it out of your head. I'm not intimidated."

"You should be," Paul snarled. Trish put her hand in front of his face and kept her gaze on Brock. He couldn't believe the stones on this woman. He was six foot four, two hundred and ninety five pounds. She was five foot four, a hundred and eighteen pounds and she was standing up to him like she was the Undertaker.

"Where is she, Trish?"

"I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your problem."

"You have a lot of nerve..."

"You have a lot of balls talking to me like this," she snapped, keeping her voice hushed. "You come at me again, and I'll make a scene. And then you'll have to answer to Vince." With that, Trish pushed between the two men and stormed off. Paul and Brock watched her.

"Fucking bitch," Brock mouthed under his breath. Paul slapped him on the arm.

"Focus on the match." Brock nodded, but Paul knew Trish Stratus and the Undertaker were officially in his head.

**

Celeste was waiting for Mark to call. She saw the end of the match; it had been thrown out when the referee had gotten a little roughed up. That didn't end the brawl, however; Mark had gotten a hold of Brock and had thrown him through the Unforgiven sign. Celeste's eyes had widened, her mouth had dropped open. It had been a hell of a fight; the two men giving it everything they had.

Unforgiven had ended two hours before; she wondered if Mark had forgotten to call her. Just hearing Brock's music and seeing him on the screen had sent chills up her spine. She had held the dog a little bit closer and watched the show, silently praying that Brock wouldn't hurt Mark too badly. The telephone rang and she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, beautiful, did you see the show?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied. "I can't believe you threw him right through the sign."

"It felt good," he replied. She laughed. "How's the bruising?"

"It's almost gone," she confessed. "I've been using a lot of ice."

"That's good," he said. "Because I meant it. You're having a night out when I get back." She shook her head, smiling. He was hopeless.

"When are you coming back in?"

"I'm catching a red eye Tuesday night, so I'll be in really early Wednesday. I'm telling you now, Celeste: don't wait up for me." She chuckled.

"I don't know; I seem to have the sleep symptoms of a crackhead."

She could sense his face darken on the other end of the phone. "You still having nightmares?"

"Everything's fine, Mark. You don't need to worry about me so much. I appreciate it, but you don't have to." Mark didn't want to come right out and say it, but he liked having someone to worry about. He even liked coming home knowing there was somebody in the house, and not just Zeus. "Look, I'll let you go. You need to get some sleep. You've probably got a lot to do tomorrow, and then SmackDown..."

"I'll see you Wednesday morning, all right?"

"You know it. Sweet dreams, Mark."

"You, too, Celeste." She hung up the phone and leaned against the counter. She still wasn't keen on the idea of going out. She looked in the mirror. The bruising was a faint yellow now, enough to be a bit noticeable, and enough to cover with concealer.

_No Mercy_ was next month in Little Rock, Arkansas. She wondered if she should go. Maybe it would put things to rest with Brock once and for all. But she doubted it. It was hard ending things with Brock. She knew staying away was for the best; it would only make her stronger in the end How she only wished that Mark was with her when she had to face Brock for the first time. But she knew that something that she had to do for herself. She had to be strong. She hated the fact she was in this situation, but she appreciated the help everybody was giving her.

**

Mark lay in his hotel room, staring up at the dark ceiling. The clock was taunting him on the nightstand; constantly counting the time away before he had to get up and go about his daily activities. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sleep to save his life. He couldn't stop thinking about Celeste. How was he going to make the situation easier for her? Was there any way he could make the situation easier for her? He doubted it. Six years was a long time to be with someone.

He was also worried about Trish Stratus. She had a lot of guts; she was a fighter. He liked that about her; it was why they were friends. But he knew that Trish didn't really have a place in this situation. He was still pretty sure that there was no place for him in this situation, but he wasn't about to send her back after he had strapped her to the bed and roughed her up. He was worried that Paul and Brock were going to make Trish's life difficult, but he at least took solace in the fact that Trish was on Raw and not on SmackDown with him and Brock. He half-wished Trish hadn't opened her mouth.

If only he really knew how bad things were going to get.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen  
**

Celeste was waiting impatiently for Mark to get back. He hadn't called; and she knew why. He was probably at the hospital. She couldn't believe the nerve of Brock and Paul Heyman. Using Matt Hardy, they had lured Mark to the back of the arena, where Mark was jumped by Brock. Taking a propane tank to his hand, Brock shattered Mark's hand and left him screaming in pain in the back of the arena. It had driven her crazy; she had just wanted to shout at Brock to leave him alone; but there wasn't a whole lot of chance that he was going to hear her through the television. She was frustrated; it wasn't about keeping Mark from winning the title; he wasn't going to stop until Mark admitted he had Celeste and led Brock right to her.

The clock was getting closer to midnight, and she was starting to get worried. Just how badly was he hurt? She didn't think Brock would be so insane to attack one of the WWE's top guys. Zeus was curled up on the couch with her, his head rested on her lap. He had really taken a shine to her; she assumed it was because she was the only one there while Mark was gone four days a week. She wondered how late Mark was going to be running. She could only imagine how he must have been feeling. She had cringed when she had heard the propane tank connect with Mark's hand.

The door opened at one o'clock and Zeus' head perked up. Celeste was dozed off on the couch, her chest moving softly with each calm breath. Zeus got off of the couch and made his way towards the door. Mark placed his suitcase down in the foyer and locked the door behind him. He was high on pain medication, but he could still feel the pain. Brock had shattered several bones in his hand with one hard shot of a propane tank. _Next week, I get my hands on Matt Hardy_, Mark thought in irritation, _Then, I'll get my hands on Brock and his little 'agent'._ He pet Zeus with his good hand.

"You've been keeping Celeste company?" he asked softly, petting the top of Zeus' head. Zeus was emitting whimpers of excitement for seeing Mark back at the house. He wondered if she was still awake; he heard the TV on in the living room. He sighed. _I told her not to wait up._

He made his way into the living room and found her sleeping on the couch. He smirked. She looked beautiful, curled up in white slippers and a white robe, her head resting on her hand as she dozed. He leaned in front of her and shook her with his good hand. "Celeste...Celeste, honey, wake up." Her eyes slowly came open and she sat up quickly.

"Mark...oh, my God...your hand..." She took the cast into her hand and he flinched. She offered a sheepish apology. "I'm so sorry, Mark. This is all my fault."

"Hey. Don't start blaming yourself for Lesnar," he said, moving the cast out of her hand. "He probably would have done something like this anyways." She nodded. But he could see she was still blaming herself for this. He wouldn't be able to show her otherwise. He studied her face. The bruising was almost gone. "Come on. Let's get you in bed. Lord knows I need some sleep myself; it's been a long night." She nodded and made her way to her feet. He draped an arm around her shoulder and they went upstairs with Zeus following behind.

**

The morning sunlight made its way through the curtains and Celeste's eyes opened. It was going to be a beautiful day. Sitting up, she leaned over to the foot of the bed and pet Zeus, who had opted to spend the night with her instead of Mark. She pulled back the blankets and got out of bed. She was exhausted; the clock read nine-thirty. Digging in her bag, she grabbed a white T-shirt and black sweatpants, tying her hair back in a ponytail. Changing her clothing, she made her way out of the room. She decided to check on Mark; see how his hand was feeling.

She went to his bedroom, Zeus close on her heels. He nudged the door open with his head and made his way inside, running and jumping onto the bed.

"What the fuck?" Mark roared, agitated. He sat up. "Zeus!"

"Not much of a morning person, are we?" she asked. He shot a look at her as she made her way into the room. "I just wanted to see how your hand was feeling this morning." His expression softened. He was kind of touched by her concern.

"It's sore," he replied. "There's a thing of painkillers in the bathroom. Can you grab me two?" She nodded and went into the adjoining bathroom. She returned with a small cup of water and two painkillers and handed them to Mark. He took them and leaned back against the pillow, taking a deep breath of frustration. His hand hurt. And it was going to hurt for awhile.

His cell phone on the nightstand rang. He picked it up. "Yeah?" Celeste watched him with an eyebrow cocked. "Hey, Steph." His lips pursed into a narrow line. "Yeah. It's broken...I'm in pain, how the hell do you think I'm doing?" He took a deep breath in agitation and Stephanie continued to talk on the other end of the phone. "I'm still good for _No Mercy. _Don't you worry about a damn thing." He stopped and listened to Stephanie, a wide, demonic smile crossing his handsome features. "Yeah, I agree, Ms. McMahon, that sounds very fair. You tell the son of a bitch I'll be seeing his ass inside Hell in a Cell." He hung up the phone and chuckled. He looked at Celeste and flashed her a smile. "So, what did you want to do today?" He was suddenly rejuvenated. Hell in a Cell, since his 1998 outing with Mick Foley, had really been considered "his match". The term they coined backstage was the "Devil's Playground". And he loved it. He couldn't wait to get his hands on Brock.

"I don't know," Celeste confessed. "I haven't really thought about it. We should probably take it easy though...I mean, your hand.."

"I'll be fine. You worry about me too much," he said. She blushed. He was happy that she seemed a little normal, but he could still sense her being standoffish sometimes. He pulled back the blankets.

"Do I get to sign your cast?"

He took a look at her, cocking an eyebrow. Was she kidding? She looked serious. "Um...if you want to," he said. "I'm going to take a shower."

"I'll go start breakfast," she said, standing up from the bed.

"You don't have to..."

"I want to," she insisted. "You just watch that cast in the shower. I'll see you downstairs for breakfast."

**

"What do you mean you don't know where she is?"

Brock had caught up with Celeste's sister Elise on her morning jog. Elise stopped and turned to Brock, glaring at him with hazel eyes that were so much like Celeste's.

"I mean I don't know where she is, Brock," Elise said. "Yeah, Celeste and I are close, but the only person she's called is Mom, and she didn't even tell Mom where she was at."

"Where do you think she's at?"

"I don't know, Brock. She hasn't told me shit since she started going on the road with you." She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "Let me ask you this, Brock; what did you do to her to make her run off without saying anything to you?"

Brock's eyes blazed. "You would really like to see things end with Celeste and I, wouldn't you?"

"You're a snake, Brock. And, evidently, my sister has finally woken up and seen that."

"You..."

"What? You aren't going to say or do a damn thing, Brock. I'm not my sister; I won't put up with it. You want help finding her? Look yourself. Because even if we did know, we sure in the hell aren't going to tell you." She went to continue her jog, but he grabbed her roughly.

"Where is she, Elise?" he snarled. He could see the fear in her eyes, but Elise Marlowe-Stevens was most definitely a steel-spined woman.

"I'm going to say this very slow so you can understand me, Brock: I don't know."

"I don't believe you."

"Then check my phone records and fuck off." She shook out of his grasp and continued on her jog. He watched her disappear, seething. How in the hell was he going to find Celeste when nobody would tell him where she was?


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

"It's not like this is a date, Celeste; he's just trying to be nice."

She had been whispering it to herself throughout the day, but she couldn't stop herself from being nervous at the idea of going out to dinner with Mark. She hadn't really gone out with anybody in a long time; Brock had stopped taking her out on dates years ago, instead leaving her behind while he spent all of his time in the gym and in wrestling rings and tournaments. It hadn't really bothered Celeste; she kept her standards pretty low in relationships so she wasn't disappointed with the outcome. She knew Brock was trying to make a career for himself in wrestling, and she didn't want to stand in the way of that. She had spent six and a half years being perfect for a man who wouldn't make the same sacrifices for her. It took her being away from him for her to see that.

Celeste was frustrated that she couldn't figure out how to do her hair. Nothing seemed too look good. She tried curling it; when that failed, she washed it out and had it straightened ridiculously. Still didn't look good. She was trying so hard to look perfect for her night out, but nothing she attempted looked good enough.

Mark was downstairs, taking care of a few things with Zeus. He had told Celeste to dress up; she was going to have a good night out.

Staring in the mirror, she decided to just leave her hair down and tousled it a little bit. She still didn't think it looked very good; but she would just have to live with it. She applied some foundation to her face, relieved that it covered up the very pale bruises on her face. She began applying her makeup. "He must think I'm taking forever," she said softly, smiling in spite of herself. She grabbed the black spaghetti-strapped dress hanging on the back of the door and slid it on. She liked the way it fit against her curves. She sighed; she felt like such an idiot.

"Good God...how much time does one woman need?" Mark's voice asked from the other side of the door. A blush crawled up her neck into her cheeks as she quickly applied some mascara and some lip gloss. She gave herself one more look in the mirror before unlocking the door.

Mark felt his breath catch when he saw her. She looked great. "Do I look all right?" she asked.

"For how much time it took you to get ready?" She slapped his arm and he laughed. She shook his head. "You look fine. Don't worry."

"How's your hand feeling?" she asked. He shrugged.

"It fades in and out. It's some pretty heavy duty shit the doctor gave me," he told her, ushering her down the stairs with a hand on her spine. He felt her tense up under his touch, but he was determined to be a gentleman and give her a nice night out.

**

"I'm going to be at _No Mercy_."

Mark just about choked on his food. They were sitting in a restaurant that Mark used to go to when he was a kid with his parents. It had been almost touching watching Mark's face light up as he told Celeste about the place, about some of the memories he had there with his parents. It was definitely a side of the Undertaker she didn't think was there.

He swallowed and straightened out his breathing. He cocked an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"I have this bad feeling, Mark. God only knows what he's doing to my family right now." Mark nodded. "It's something I have to do. It's nice to hide out here, and everything, but what am I going to do? Live the rest of my life hiding out?" She had a point; it was nice coming home to somebody, but he had to remember she had a life that she needed to rebuild at the moment.

"You've taken the entire situation really well, Celeste," he informed her. "I know a lot of women who would crack in this situation."

She shrugged. "I guess you realize sometimes that when it's over, it's over." She shuddered as she thought about the way Brock had treated her the last night in their hotel room; how he had handcuffed her to the bed and had forced himself on her, as if he were marking his alpha male domination over her. He nodded. She took a sip of her drink.

"Well, if you need anything when we get to the arena that day, just let me know. You know Brock won't be doing anything while he's out in the ring." She nodded. "But if you'd like, I'll leave you with a couple of the guys just to be safe, post-match. It's not going to be pretty." Celeste nodded. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell her that. Mark wanted revenge for Brock breaking his hand, and Brock wanted to beat Mark into telling him where she was.

He could sense her demeanor darkening fast. He sat back. "So, tell me a bit about your family. You have siblings?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Jacob and Elise. Elise is a real estate agent and Jacob is a construction worker."

"You the oldest?"

She shook her head. "Middle. Jacob's the youngest. He's twenty-one. Elise is thirty." She took a bite out of her pasta. "What about you?"

"I have three brothers. They're kind of scattered to the four winds. We don't get to talk as much because I'm on the road all the time. But they think it's pretty sweet their brother scares the hell out of millions on a weekly basis." She laughed.

"That's definitely an accomplishment," she told him. "Which side do you prefer? The motorbikes or the eyeliner?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." He shook his head, laughing. "I like both sides. The business is always changing, and so there's nothing wrong with evolving. If I manage to go back to the Original Deadman stuff down the line, that's great. If not, I like what I'm doing." She nodded. She could see the way his face lit up every time he talked about his career; he truly loved what he was doing. "It's been almost twelve years since I started in WWE, and I still love the feeling of stepping through the curtains."

"It must be a rush."

"You have no idea. And at _WrestleMania_? Forget it. You're lucky if you even get any sort of sleep at the end of the night. Knowing you've performed at the biggest show of the year."

"Have you ever been in the main event?"

He nodded. "So much pressure, but it's that good kind of pressure, you know? And at the end of the night, when you walk through the curtain and Vince and the guys are clapping and celebrating that the show went off without a hitch, you feel like you were really a part of something."

"Did those tattoos hurt?" she asked, motioning to the wizards, castles and skulls up his arms.

"No," he said. "Not half as much as some people would think. You don't have any tattoos?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to when Brock started getting them, but he says they make women look cheap." Mark scoffed. "What?"

"He's a real tool," Mark murmured. "Look, what say we go for your first tattoo tonight?"

"What? Oh, Mark, I don't know..."

"Come on. We'll head out and get your first tattoo tonight and then we'll go shoot some pool. How does that sound?" The truth was, as soon as he heard Brock was against it, he was all for it. Anything to stick it to Brock Lesnar. At the moment, he didn't think it was possible to hate somebody half as much as he hated Brock Lesnar. "Come on. What do you say?"

"I say you're a bad influence." He laughed.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Celeste shook her head.

"Maybe before _No Mercy. _But I am so not in the mood to be prodded and poked and colored tonight." Mark laughed. "I mean it, Mark; you're a terrible influence. If I don't put my foot down now, I could be looking like you before the show."

"Ouch."

"You know what I meant." The two of them were lost in the conversation, eating dinner and laughing. But in the back of Celeste's mind, she still sensed that things were going to get a lot worse before they got any better.

**

"Thanks, Mark. Tonight was a lot of fun," she replied as he unlocked the front door and ushered her into the house. Zeus came charging into the main hallway and Celeste leaned down to pet him. She stood to her feet and Mark helped her out of her coat, hanging it on a nearby coat rack. "I haven't had a night out in so long."

He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you had fun. Still wish you would have gone for that tattoo though." She shook her head and laughed. He stopped her before she made her way up the stairs. "Look...about _No Mercy..._are you sure that's what you want to do?"

She sighed. "No, I don't really want to do it. I'd rather disappear on Brock and just be gone forever. But let's be honest; he's not going to let that happen. If I don't go to Arkansas and at least confront him, next time it could be a lot worse than your hand that gets broken."

"Okay. I just want you to be careful, though."

"You don't need to worry about me, Mark," she assured him. "I'll be fine." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." With that, she made her way up the stairs as Mark watched after her. He hoped to hell she knew what she was doing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

Mark sat downstairs in the living room, watching an old AWA show on ESPN Classic. He was semi-paying attention; the AWA reminded him of his childhood. He remembered the days when this stuff was new, coming on every week; when he'd catch it on television with his parents. So many of these guys had since retired or had died, and he had always taken a moment to reflect on his fallen comrades; after all, they had been his childhood heroes. Zeus was upstairs with Celeste; she had really become attached with his dog, and his dog had become attached to her, something that didn't put him out in the slightest; though he wished he had his dog with him at the moment. He had to admit; he sure liked coming home to somebody in the house, and he was pretty sure that Zeus liked not having to be locked up for the majority of the week while he traveled around the country.

He was worried about Celeste going to _No Mercy_ at the Alltel Arena. There was no doubt she could take care of herself; she was a grown woman. Behind the vulnerable eyes and her demure demeanor, Celeste had a lot spunk, and it was a trait that was admired by him and half of the WWE locker room. With her level of spunk, he couldn't figure out how on Earth she had stayed with Brock for so long. The way they had treated her wasn't right, the way they would constantly yell at he and leave her behind at the arena to find her own way home. He was almost thankful that Brock had become violent; something had to get her out of there. And with Celeste, he knew she would try to make it work out. She would have crawled over an acre of broken glass for him. It had to be something desperate to get her out of there. He hated to think for a second that the way they were treating her was okay, and that she would agree with them. His mother raised him to treat a woman properly, and the idea of a man hitting a woman just pissed him off.

His hand ached. He didn't understand the point of taking the painkillers that the doctor had given him; he still felt the pain anyways. It never went away; even when high on the medication, there was still a dull throb that was painful. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that Celeste blamed herself for what happened to his hand; the fact that she was hiding here like a fugitive played on her conscience every time something happened to him. He was worried that she was willing to throw herself in harm's way because he was hurt, or because there was the chance that he was going to get hurt some more before all the dust had settled.

Changing the channel, Mark settled on the news. He half-wished Zeus was with him at the moment. Hell, he would have loved it if Celeste hadn't gone straight to bed. He liked the idea of having her resting in his arms. He had felt her lips on his cheek for an hour.

_No way, Deadman. You are so not thinking about this._ He shook his head. He'd been battling these thoughts for a few weeks now. The more and more people told him to stay away; that this was too dangerous for him, it made him want her more. He wouldn't dream of rushing her though; he knew things had been bad with Brock. She was taking everything surprisingly well; shouldering all the pain and sadness of the breakup. He was sure she probably had nights where she cried herself to sleep, but he admired the fact that she hadn't completely broken down. At least in his presence. She had moved along like a soldier.

Celeste Marlowe. He admired her. Admired everything she had been through. He knew she was still self conscious about the bruising that was fading quickly now on her face; and the idea of going to _No Mercy_ he supposed was her last stand with Brock. She wanted closure, finality, because she knew he wasn't going to let things go. She was worried about her family, and the life she had left behind in Minneapolis. He was selfish to try and keep her hidden here. But there was a part of him that wanted to protect her by any means necessary. It still bothered him to remember breaking into the hotel room and finding her cuffed to the bed; beaten up. He could see the spots of blood on the bed sheets, and he didn't even want to know where that came from. He had only been concerned with getting her out of there. The entire image of the situation had made him sick.

He hoped that Celeste knew what she was getting herself into.

**

Celeste lay on her side, staring out the window at the clear Texas night. She couldn't sleep. Zeus was at the foot of her bed, acting as a protector of sorts while she slept. If only she could tonight. Her mind was racing.

She wasn't an idiot; she knew that Mark wanted her to get the tattoo because it would have been a way of sticking it to Brock. She was caught in the middle of their feud, while trying to leave Brock. She made a mental note to call Elise in the morning. She hated to think about what Brock was doing to try and find her. What Paul Heyman could potentially be doing to try and find her. Sure, she knew that Paul didn't want her around; but if Brock was distracted, then he would do anything to see to it that Brock's head was in the game.

She was surprised he hadn't found her yet. The smartest thing she had done was not say anything to anybody about where she was. She didn't know if she would be able to live with herself if she ahd managed to put her entire family in danger. Now that Brock had laid his hands on her, she didn't doubt that he would stop at nothing to find her. But she didn't understand the situation. He was cheating on her with other Divas; she had heard it all, but hadn't seen it. He was abusive. So why did he still want her around? Was he afraid of failure? Was she nothing more than good old Celeste, the backup plan? She didn't know. And she wished the thoughts would go away. Some nights they were downright ugly.

She thought about dinner with Mark. She hadn't had fun in so long. He was doing so much to keep her company, to provide her with comfort, to make her happy while she tried to get over Brock.

Her thoughts went back to the day she and Mark fought in Brock's hotel room. Was he right? Did believing that nobody better was waiting for her out there keep her from walking away after all this time? She was surprised with herself she still remembered the conversation. But the truth was, she always seemed to remember what Mark said to her. And she definitely remembered slapping him at the end of the argument. She groaned; after all of that, he was still being nice to her.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the black abyss above her. She knew she was attracted to Mark. She also knew if Brock found that out, he'd go insane. She was so self-conscious around Mark; she hadn't been that way since the early days with Brock. She was always so calculated with what she did, afraid to look like an idiot around him. And he seemed to take to her like a protector; not wanting anything to happen to her. On the other hand, she didn't want to see anything happen to him.

**

"Oh, my God, Brock...that was amazing."

Brock lay in bed with Dawn Marie and they were both staring up at the ceiling. She had managed to sneak away from Torrie's father for a few hours to spend with Brock, arriving in nothing more than a cute butterfly lingerie set under a black silk robe. Out of all the Divas he had been with, he could honestly say he liked Dawn Marie the most. She was a smart woman; she knew that it was what it was, and being clingy wasn't going to get her anywhere. The relationship with Torrie's father wasn't about love; it was about getting in Torrie's head, and it was more than definitely working. He admired the fact that she was willing to do whatever she could to ensure success. She also knew better than to say Celeste's name in his presence, but he knew she had heard the whispers. She just knew better than to ask questions.

Brock was still coming down from the high he was feeling. It wasn't anything like being with Celeste, but he liked Dawn Marie well enough. He grunted an agreement and Dawn knew at the moment that there was going to be no real conversation with him. With a deep sigh, she rolled over and gathered her robe. "Where you going?" he asked.

"I've got to get back to Al," Dawn Marie replied, "before he suspects anything. If you need anything; you know where to find me." He nodded and she let herself out of the room. He sighed. He knew Celeste was with Mark. But nobody was telling him where to find Mark. All he knew was Mark lived in Houston, Texas. Which was a long ways from Minneapolis, Minnesota. Elise and Jacob and her mother weren't saying anything; even when he had become menacing. He was starting to think that they truly didn't know where she was. And that had him concerned. He didn't want to think about what Celeste and Mark could potentially be doing together. The idea of her sleeping with him made him sick. He had been Celeste's first everything, and he wasn't about to give her up without a fight.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

With a stretch, Celeste woke up in the morning, inadvertantly giving Zeus a little bit of a kick as she awakened. The dog let out a bit of a groan, lifting his weary head in agitation before he opted to lay back down. "Sorry, big guy," she murmured, sitting up and stroking the dog's head. Zeus' eyes remained closed. Pulling the blankets back, she got out of bed and decided to let Zeus sleep in a little bit.

She made her way downstairs with the intentions of calling Elise and making sure everything was all right. She had a strong feeling that Brock had tried hitting up Elise and the family for information. The clock on the microwave said it was seven-thirty; she knew Mark wouldn't be awake for another few hours and she decided to let him sleep. He had to be back on the road tomorrow afternoon and she knew his day was going to be full of packing and travel arrangements. She wanted him to relax for as long as he could.

Picking up the phone, she called Elise. "Hello?" It was obvious her sister had been up for awhile. Elise was something of a morning person; always up when the sun rose, sipping coffee out on her back porch with her poodle named Cannon.

"Hey, Lise."

"Celeste? Oh, my God! Are you all right? Christ, everyone here is worried about you. What's going on?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine, fine. I had a run-in with Brock a few days ago. Are things really over between you two?"

"Yeah. He really crossed the line, Elise. I can't go back."

"How bad?"

"Just think of how bad it could be." Elise sucked in a breath. "Then times it by ten."

"Jesus. Where are you, Celeste?"

"I'm not saying. I'm with a friend, and just know I'm safe." Elise sucked in a breath.

"I'm not going to find out, am I?"

"No, you're not. It's better you guys don't know anyways. Just have faith that I'm safe, all right? Is Jacob all right?"

"Yeah. Brock tried beating the information out of him." Celeste shook her head and felt a wave of nausea pang in her stomach. Jacob was a trained boxer, but it still didn't stop her from feeling some form of concern for her brother. "Don't worry; Brock backed off after Jacob took a shot at him." The girls laughed. The three Marlowe children had a bit of spunk, but Celeste was the most demure. Elise was relieved that she had finally left Brock; but things had obviously been bad in the end. Elise's mind was only wondering about how bad it could have been. "Are you all right with everything?"

"Not really, but I don't have much of a choice," Celeste replied. "It's hard after all this time, you know? Moving on seems like such a foreign concept."

"I know, hon. But somebody will come along and treat you better," Elise assured her. Celeste nodded, a smile crossing her features as she thought about Mark upstairs, sleeping.

"Look, I should get going. I've got some stuff to do today. I'll call you in the next week or so and let you know I'm all right. Just let Mom and Jacob know I'm okay, and if Brock comes at you again, please go to the police, Elise. It's harassment."

"Will do, Celeste. Take it easy."

"Bye, sis." Elise and Celeste hung up. She leaned her head against the wall. She could feel the tears coming. She wished that she could just walk away from the situation and everything could be over. Brock could just let her go and let her go on about her life.

**

Mark could hear the soft cries coming down the stairs and his expression softened. He knew it was only a matter of time before she really had a breakdown. Her sobs were soft as he made his way into the kitchen. It was obvious she was trying to stay quiet so she didn't rouse him. She had her back to him, sipping on a coffee. When she sensed him behind her, she dried her eyes with her hands and straightened up. She turned to see him and cleared her throat. "Coffee?"

"Nah, not right now. I'm all right. Are you?"

"Yeah," she replied. She put her coffee mug down. "I'm fine, Mark."

"Come here," he said, pulling her into his arms. She was a little reluctant, but she rested her head against his chest and he felt the tears begin to flow. "Let it out; it's okay," he soothed, his hands rubbing her back. The worst part for her; was even though the tears were falling, she couldn't just let it all out the way that she wanted to.

"I'm fine, Mark. Really...it's just...he tried to rough up my brother, and my family's getting harassed, and I feel like this is all my fault." She sighed. "It's just hard...you know, why can't he just let it go?"

"I don't know, beautiful," he said, "I don't know what's running through the man's mind, but you shouldn't be thinking this is your fault. Just try not to worry about it, okay? No one knows except for you and I where you are. I know you're scared, and I know you're worried about your family, but they'll be okay. If they're anything like you, they'll kick ass if Brock pushes too hard." She nodded, keeping her head rested on his chest.

"Is it normal if I just can't cry it all out?"

"Sure it is," he assured her. "People cope differently." He pulled back and wiped a tear away with his thumb. She was receptive to his touch. Mark felt something stir internally. This wasn't good. "Celeste, I don't know if I want you at _No Mercy_."

"Mark, I'll be fine," she said. He wanted to touch her bruise, but he was afraid of what he was feeling every time they made contact. It was not good to be getting involved with his opponent's girlfriend. It was only asking for trouble for everybody involved and he wasn't sure he wanted to put Celeste back in Lesnar's way again. But she stood her ground. "I can't run for the rest of my life." He nodded; she had a point. "I also can't spend the rest of my life hiding behind you or your friends." He smirked. "So don't you even think about setting up surveillance for me." Mark sighed.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right? I don't feel right leaving you alone backstage, especially if something goes wrong. I mean, Paul will more than likely be at ringside for Brock, so during the match is okay...I'm just worried about after the match."

"Don't worry so much. I'll be fine," she assured him. "What can he really do in front of all those people anyway? Just about everyone knows this fucked up situation anyway, so I doubt they'll let him get close to me." He nodded.

"It's still a chance I don't want to take. He hurt you good."

"I know he did, but if I spend my life running, he wins. I don't want to do that." She flashed him a smile. "Just trust me on this, all right?"

She could tell he was reluctant, but he agreed. "Fine. But you need to make sure that you have eyes in the back of your head with this guy." She nodded. "I mean it. He will stop at nothing, Celeste. He's shown that."

"I know, Mark, and I appreciate you worrying about me so much." She decided to change the subject. "How about you go get ready for your day and I'll have breakfast ready for you when you come back down here."

"You don't have to do that," he told her. She smiled.

"I need to do something. I'm not an invalid," she said. He knew better than to argue with her, so he nodded and disappeared up the stairs. Celeste began to make her way around the kitchen, the thought of being at _No Mercy _weighing heavily on her mind. As scared as she was of facing Brock for the first time since he had really attacked her, she knew that she couldn't show Mark he was right. She had to face him and she had to be unable to show fear, no matter how hard it may be.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

Celeste felt her nerves wearing thinner and thinner as _No Mercy _approached. Mark was being nice enough to set up all her travel arrangements for her so she didn't have to worry about anything more than staying protected at _No Mercy_ in a week, which she was thankful for, since she was so distracted. She was steadily watching the program more and more, getting familiar with the card and keeping a close eye on what was happening between Brock and Mark, and even though she wasn't acknowledged on air, it was more than clear that she was an underlying source of tension between the two. It was still hard for her to believe that things had ended so badly between her and Brock, but she was determined to move on with her life, whether it be with Mark or by herself. She knew that eventually she was going to have to think about going back to Minnesota and resuming her life, but the truth was she was starting to enjoy staying with Mark, which scared her. More than that, she found herself becoming really attached to Zeus, who spent the nights with her and made sure nobody got too near her. Including Mark, to his surprise. Zeus had become extraordinarily overprotective of Celeste.

_No Mercy _was enamating live from the Alltell Arena in Little Rock, Arkansas, and it was shaping up to be pretty hardcore, with Brock bringing out an old ringrat into the mix with Mark, who was wreaking havoc on his professional and whatever personal live he had, and Glen over on _Raw _was being accused of murder by Triple H. Glen was having a hard time, as it had brought up some hard memories in his past, while Mark felt obligated to explain things about Traci to Celeste, who didn't understand why he felt that way since they weren't dating. She secretly wondered if he was feeling that way because of her staying with him, but she was too nervous to say anything about it.

Monday night _Raw _was in full swing; with Eric Bischoff still irritated over his humiliation at _Unforgiven._ Celeste had giggled; Stephanie McMahon had really pulled one over on him by dressing Rikishi up in disguise. Booker T had found it the most amusing; Bischoff was punishing him left and right. More and more Celeste found herself becoming fans of different people; she really enjoyed Trish, Amy, Nora, who Mark promised to introduce her to, and some of the other guys. Mark had promised one of these days to spend a day with her showing her old shows, and she was excited about that. She wondered if he forgot, though, since he had made the suggestion a week and a half before and he hadn't brought it up to her since.

Brock was downright animalistic; going so far as to almost attack Stephanie in the ring when she refused to back down and announced that Mark could wear his cast in the ring. He had cornered her against the ring post and had inhaled her fear. Mark had tried coming to her rescue, but Brock had more or less obliterated him in the ring. Knowing full well they weren't going to get Stephanie to break down, it was now their mission during the match or before hand to see to it that Mark lost his cast in Hell in a Cell. The thought terrified Celeste; he had been hurt way too much at her expense, irregardless of what he told her. Sometimes she wondered if she should just go back with Brock, but she knew that she was going to need to be strong. Mark was inspiring a lot of strength in her that she never in a million years thought she would have when it came to Brock. The bruising was gone; she was thankful that she wouldn't look battered when she walked into the arena on Sunday and she was thankful that nobody else had to see her like that. But she worried about what would happen if Mark lost. She was fairly confident that he was going to win the WWE Championship off of Brock, but in the event that things got out of control and Mark was left in the middle of the canvas, tasting his own blood, she couldn'thelp but wonder just how she was going to stay protected.

Mark was on the road; dealing with the last week of taping before _No Mercy_. With his broken hand, Celeste was more than worried about what condition he was going to be in for the match on Sunday; especially with Paul Heyman in Brock's ear. Celeste had come to the conclusion early on that she had a strong dislike for Paul Heyman; all this stuff between her and Brock only solidified it.

She worried a lot about Sunday as she curled on the couch with a cup of tea and Zeus in her lap. He was an old dog; she could see his hips starting to go on him. She wasn't sure if Mark had noticed that, but she definitely didn't want to be the one to tell him that his dog was starting to succumb to his old age. Rubbing behind his ears, he whimpered softly before resting his head on her denim-clad lap. That Traci woman was making life difficult for Mark, and the way the woman was interfering was even driving Stephanie McMahon crazy. But Paul Heyman was relishing in the chaos he was creating in a way that Celeste thought was almost devil-like. To her, Paul was a Satan incarnate. She had no doubt in her mind that Heyman had everything to do with the dissolution of her and Brock's relationship.

**

"You want to 'fess up to your girlfriend now?" Traci purred in Mark's ear. He had discovered her in his locker room, and she was refusing to leave.

"There's nothing to 'fess up about," he growled between gritted teeth. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Why don't you be a good boy and just give her back to the guys," Traci said. "I mean, what is it that she has that I don't?"

"She's not my girlfriend. You were a groupie that I slept with _years_ ago. How the hell you even managed to pop up like a wart is beyond me." He gathered his clothing. "Just do us all a favor and tip your ass on out of here."

"Fine," she said, leaning over a chair to expose her cleavage. "But you'd better believe that I'll be back."

"I'm almost counting on that," he said with a roll of his eyes. Realizing she wasn't going to get anywhere, she straightened her posture and left the room, tossing her brunette hair over her shoulder. He sighed; he had really made a mistake with Traci, back when he was young and stupid. He knew that Celeste wasn't expecting him to explain anything to her about Traci, but he felt obligated to. He couldn't even figure out why.

Mark knew he had to call her tonight. She was on edge about coming to _No Mercy_. About the idea of facing Brock again after he had beaten her so terribly and had treated her so roughly. She still hadn't particularly come out of her shell, but he knew that there was an outgoing woman in there somewhere. She wasn't a vulnerable woman; her strength and tenacity had been inspiring to him for the last month or so, taking pride in the fact that she had been so strong during such a terrible time. He gathered a towel and his clothing and disappeared into the shower area.

**

"Has anybody heard from Celeste lately?" Stephanie asked. Torrie and Stacy Keibler shook their heads.

"We've never met her," Torrie assured Stephanie. "Why? Do you know where she is?"

"No," Stephanie replied. "But from what I understand, it was a very nasty breakup between her and Brock Lesnar." The office door opened and Mark walked in. Torrie and Stacy stared at Mark, intimidated by his height and his size. He shot a nasty glare to the two girls and Torrie and Stacy excused themselves, disappearing from the General Manager's office. Stephanie leaned against her desk as Mark closed the door behind him. He cocked an eyebrow at the quizzical expression on her face.

"Into scaring Divas now, Mark?"

"You kidding? Brock's poking them like pin cushions," he spat in disgust. Stephanie shook her head.

"Do you have to be so vulgar about it?"

"Just throwing it out there," he said.

"Have you heard from Celeste?"

"Yeah. She's still at my place," Mark replied. "Preparing for _No Mercy_ this weekend."

"Is it a good idea for her to come out here?"

"I think this is a matter of principle for her," he told Stephanie. "She doesn't want to feel like she's running, so she's coming as kind of a last stand sort of thing."

"And who's going to protect her?" Stephanie asked. Mark shrugged.

"She'll be fine. Brock and Heyman will be at ringside."

"And if you lose, Mark...what then?"

"I'll leave her with John Cena, Kurt Angle and Chris Benoit," Mark said.

"And if they won't look after her?" Stephanie asked. Mark laughed.

"Cena's still so green, he'd jog to Wisconsin if I asked him to," he replied. It wasn't a stretch to say it; John had only debuted a few months before and would do anything to get the respect of the legendary Undertaker. Stephanie shook her head.

"I just hope you know what you're doing with her, Mark."

"What do you want me to do, Steph?" he asked. "It's not like I haven't asked her to hang back. She wants to be here. She wants to see him and stand up to him. She's been fantasizing about this since she came to stay with me. Celeste wants a normal life again. She doesn't want to hide from her family and her friends anymore."

"I'm just saying be careful," Stephanie replied. "You and Celeste both."

"I'm way ahead of you, Steph. But I appreciate that you care enough about it."

**

"Mark?"

Mark looked up to see Brock Lesnar standing in front of him. He felt a dull throb in his cast. He straightened his posture and glared into the ice blue eyes of the "Next Big Thing". "What do you want, Lesnar?" he asked. He stared around. "Where's your little agent?"

"Paul went home for the night," he said with a smirk.

"I can't imagine he was too happy with leaving you unsupervised."

"He does what I tell him," Brock replied curtly. Mark refused to divert his gaze from the man who had broken his hand.

"What's this about?"

"You know what it's about. Celeste. I want her back."

"What's the matter? The other Divas not satisfying you?"

"Are you the one who fucking told her?"

"I didn't need to tell her," he said. "I didn't have to tell her fuck all."

"You did tell her, didn't you? I'm not an idiot. I know she's with you. I know you probably fucked her, too. The disgusting little slut."

"And you can't figure out why she left you?" Mark raged. Both hands were twitching; he was trying hard not to hit him until the Hell in a Cell match, but he hated hearing Brock talk about Celeste like that. "I saw what you did to her, you cowardly motherfucker." Brock smirked, a smirk that made Mark feel sick right to the pit of his stomach.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Brock replied.

"I was the one who got her out of those handcuffs," Mark snapped. "Stephanie and I." Brock's eyes blazed. "I saw the bruising; I saw the welts. How you could be so rough to such a beautiful woman is beyond me."

"She likes it that way," Brock told him. "Don't be fooled by her little demeanor...she likes getting slapped around in the sack." Mark bit the inside of his cheek, determined not to hit him. He didn't want to jeopardize Stephanie's main event, but he was trying his damnedest.

"What do you want?"Mark growled.

"I want Celeste at _No Mercy_," he said. "I want what's mine."

"She's a human being, Brock. She's not some form of property for you. If you wanted her so goddamn bad, because you loved her so goddamn much, then you wouldn't have hurt her the way that you did. But you know what? I'm done talking to you. The time for talking is done. Come Sunday at _No Mercy_, I will beat you up, which will bust you up, which will shut you up. I'll see you in Arkansas."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Celeste entered the Alltel Arena for _No Mercy 2002_, hand-in-hand with the Deadman. There was an electricity in the air and a shake in her step. Mark squeezed her hand reassuringly; she knew he would never let her get hurt. Never again. Those days were over.

She looked fierce tonight. Dressed in a pair of black dress slacks and a red silk V-necked rouched top, her caramel hair curled in tight ringlets. Her makeup was neutral, natural, her fingernails nude shade. He felt flattered just having her on his arm; she looked like a walking doll.

In their locker room, he dropped his duffel bag. She sat down on the leather couch, her hands fidgetting. "You sure you're going to be okay, Celeste?"

"Yeah. I'll be all right," she assured him. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that made him concerned about the prospect of leaving her alone. Mark went to speak, but his cell phone went off. Looking down, he sighed.

"It's Steph. She needs to see me. Lock the door behind me, don't let anyone in for anything. I'll send you a text when I'm at the door, all right?" She nodded and he disappeared out the door. Celeste locked the door behind him. Later on Mark would be meeting Brock Lesnar in a Hell in a Cell match, which promised that there would be mayhem, violence and bloodshed. She was afraid for Mark, she was afraid for Brock. The idea of people getting hurt, the idea of her being stuck in the middle of some warped triangle just didn't sit right with her. She wished there was something she could do.

Sitting down on the couch, she watched the show on the monitor. Trish Stratus had just defeated Molly Holly to capture her third Women's Championship. Jonathan Coachman caught up backstage with Brock and Paul, who were with a brunette woman who claimed she had slept with Mark. Celeste had been paying attention to what was going on from Mark's house while he was on the road; she knew all about Traci. But she didn't care; it wasn't like Mark was her boyfriend. Whomever he was spending his time with was none of her business, though the past month he hadn't had time to spend with anybody else, and Celeste knew this for a fact.

For a moment, she wondered if Brock was nailing Traci. It wouldn't surprise her; he was nailing everything else that moved in the backstage area. The idea that she had been sharing Brock with multiple women made her feel dizzy, sick to her stomach. What a pig. There was a knock on the door, but she remained silent. "Open up, Celeste, I know you're in there!" Her heart froze.

Brock.

Of course he knew where she was. He was no idiot. He continued to bang and pound for a few minutes. He wound up giving up, promising her that he would see her after the match, when Mark was laid out and bloody in the ring. "He's going to be leaving on a stretcher. I hope you enjoy having that on your conscience, Celeste. It didn't have to be this way, you know," he informed her. The wave of disgust she felt for him was overwhelming. When he disappeared, she allowed her entire body to sink into the couch, spent from the fear.

Mark heard everything he needed to hear about Traci and the lies. She turned to face him, her brown eyes wide with shock, surprise and fear. "You're a lying bitch!" he roared. Mark turned his attention to Stephanie, who sat at her desk in a black shirt and leather jacket. "Thanks, Steph - I owe you one." He left the General Manager's office, spotting Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman entering Brock's locker room. His eyes darkened; of course they knew where Celeste was hiding out, but had they tried anything? With purpose he moved towards his locker room, firing off a text to her.

She opened the door. "He came by here, didn't he?"

"Yeah. I wonder what kept him from kicking down the door."

"About a hundred witnesses." Mark entered. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just go out there and kick his ass tonight, will you?" Mark nodded, opening his duffel bag with one hand and pulling out his ring gear.

"Think you can give me a hand with my bandana tonight?" he asked sheepishly, motioning to his broken hand. Celeste nodded and he flashed her a smile, disappearing into the shower stalls to change. Thank God; Celeste was pretty sure she would die of embarrassment.

When he emerged, he looked like The Undertaker, holding a red bandana in hand. Leaning down, he allowed Celeste to tie the bandana around his head. "There you go. Done and done," she said, a smile tugging at her beautiful features. Mark wanted to lean in and just kiss her, but he fought the urge, afraid of scaring her half to death.

"Are you going to be okay back here? Should I send you to Trish?"

"I might prefer that," Celeste replied. He surprised her by putting both hands on her face. His eyes were no longer sparkling, but dead serious. She felt a little bit of worry course through her.

"If anything happens tonight, if I lose, just get back to the hotel, all right? Don't stay here and wait for me. Brock's going to count on that, all right? If anything happens to me, I want you to be safe." She nodded, feeling a little bit of worry tickle her nerves. Mark smiled. "I mean it, Celeste."

"I know, Mark. I promise." Mark gave her a hug. She wished him good luck and together, he snuck her over to Trish's locker room.

Celeste was gathering her things at the end of the night with Trish. Mark had lost. Brock had done what he had promised, leaving Mark laying in a puddle of blood in the middle of the ring. Her heart had dropped; she was worried about Mark, but she remembered what he said. Trish was helping her gather her things when the locker room door burst open with a huge kick. Celeste and Trish both screamed in surprise as Brock stood there, the WWE Championship around his neck.

"Brock, back off…" Trish started. He grabbed her by the hair and flung her into the wall. She hit head first, collapsing to the ground with a sickening "ugh."

"Trish!" Celeste went to move towards Trish, but he stepped in her way. They were gridlocked now, staring into each other's eyes, the Brock Lesnar she had once known and loved no longer standing in front of her. She dropped her duffel bag, ready to throw down if she had to. Never again would she be his pin cushion, his punching bag. Celeste Marlowe was nobody's victim.

"Long time no see, Celeste. You're looking beautiful." She didn't say a word, her fists clenched at her side. Trish was stirring on the ground, holding her forehead. "How's Texas been?"

"Fine."

"You've fucked him, haven't you?"

"That's none of your business." Wrong answer. He was on her in seconds, pinning her up against the wall, his hands digging into her shoulders. "Ouch!" she murmured as he pushed harder. His breath was hot and heavy on her neck, inhaling her. Her fear turned him on.

"I bet you have. I can see it in your eyes. Was he better than me, Celeste? Or do you miss me? I bet you miss me," he growled, biting her earlobe. She gasped; it was hard, but not hard enough to draw blood. In the corner, Trish was using what she could to slowly stagger to her feet. She was concussed; way to celebrate her third Women's Championship reign. Brock's left hand went down to her breast, kneading and squeezing it hard in his hand.

Celeste finally felt something inside of her snap. Leaning forward, she brought her knee up as hard as she could, catching an unexpected - and aroused - Brock in the groin. His blue eyes widened, he stumbled back and fell to one knee. While downed, Celeste hit him as hard as she could with a haymaker, taking him down to the ground. She moved over him quickly, but he caught her ankle, bringing her down to the floor with him. Celeste screeched, and Trish made a grab for Celeste's arm. Angry, Celeste brought her foot back and kicked Brock right in the sternum, causing him to let her go. He wheezed and howled in agony on the floor as Trish grabbed Celeste and Mark's bags, the two of them slinging their respective bags over their shoulder. Celeste ushered Trish out, turning in the doorframe to look at Brock just one last time.

"If you ever, _ever come near me again, Brock, I'll kill you," she threatened, her voice shaky with rage and adrenaline. "I mean it. We're over." Turning off the light, she left the locker room, closing Brock in the darkness, closing the darkest chapter of her life. _


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Celeste's ears perked up when she heard the key card slide into the door of the hotel room they were sharing. Her eyes shifted from her issue of _Cosmo _with Angelina Jolie on the cover when she saw Mark walk in. He was stitched up and battered, walking with a very visible limp. It had been a violent match between him and Brock; Celeste knew he was going to be feeling the injuries for days. Putting the magazine down on the bed, she rushed to Mark and hugged him. He groaned at the initial contact, but hugged her back anyway.

"Jesus, I've been so worried! Are you okay?" His clothing was still covered in blood that had dried, but at least he had washed it off his face. Hell In A Cell is never easy to bounce back from, he had told her. She was inclined to agree after surveying the damage. He ignored her concern.

"I heard an interesting story from Stratus earlier…"

"Is she all right?"

"Feeling rough, but she'll make it. She's a fighter. How's the haymaker?"

"Fine, believe it or not. I sent him down to the floor, though I think the shot to his groin did that more than anything else." Mark noticed the redness on her ear and touched the swollen lobe. He could feel the indents. She winced, a stain of embarrassment blushing her cheeks.

"The fuck is this?"

"He, uh…well, he kind of…well, he bit me."

"He _bit_ you?"

"Yeah."

"Does it hurt?"

"A touch, but I took some Tylenol. Don't worry about me, though. Go get yourself cleaned up." Mark nodded; his every muscle ached and there was still some blood. He didn't bother showering at the arena after what Trish had told him. Mark had just wanted to get back to Celeste and make sure she was all right. Mark disappeared into the bathroom and in minutes Celeste could hear the water running. She bit back a giggle as she heard a loud, pleasurable groan from the hot water hitting his aching skin.

The contact of the hot water to his sore muscles felt incredible. He was hurting, and he would be for a few days, but Mark knew that Brock was hurting just as much. Even if he lost out on winning the WWE Championship, Mark knew that Brock was limping to bed tonight as well, and he would be doing it without Celeste. These thoughts alone were enough to let Mark sleep peacefully tonight.

When Mark emerged from the shower, changed into black drawstring pants and a white muscle shirt, he found Celeste sitting on the bed, dressed in a white cotton nightgown, her hair back in a low ponytail. He smiled; even if she were to greet him in a potato sack, he was pretty sure it would be the most beautiful outfit on her. She had gone back to reading her magazine.

He sat down beside her on the bed. "What are you reading?"

"_Cosmo_?" He grimaced; his ex-wife had sworn by that shit.

"You read this shit?"

"Guilty pleasure." They were encased in silence. Celeste felt a little awkward, but she kept to reading her magazine, turning the pages slowly. Mark cleared his throat.

"I, uh…I think I need to talk to you about Traci…"

"No. You don't."

"I don't?"

"You don't owe me any explanation. It's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything." Mark smirked. She never looked up from her magazine, so he questioned her sincerity. Or was it jealousy? What she said next had the ability to put a harpoon through his heart. "I'm thinking of heading back to Minneapolis next week."

"You're going home?"

"I probably should. It's time I start getting my stuff out of Brock's house."

"Where are you going to stay?"

"I can stay with Elise for a while. Worst case scenario, Jacob will take me. I've imposed on you for long enough." Mark dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. Now she looked at him. There definitely was something different in her eyes, and he was pretty sure it had to do with Brock digging up Traci from his past.

"You haven't imposed on me, Celeste. In fact, I've loved having you around."

"Mark, how do you expect to live your life like a normal human being when you're constantly dealing with a basket case like me?" Mark snorted.

"You are _not_ a basket case."

"Mark, you deserve normality. You deserve a good girlfriend. These are things that don't seem to come with this package." Mark scoffed.

"Maybe I don't want to find anybody else. Maybe I just want you." Celeste laughed.

"You don't mean that."

"I do mean that. Celeste, I want to be with you."

"How do you know that this just isn't a case of being attracted to what you've saved? It's not healthy, Mark." Mark sighed; she was right about that. But she wasn't at the same time.

"I know that's not true. What do I need to do to prove it?"

"Just let me go home for now. Time to give us some space. If you still want me in, say, a month or two, then come and get me. But I want you to be sure. Not because you've put your life on hold to save me from my troubles."

Mark sighed. He wasn't sure if it was possible, but he felt even more defeated than he had an hour before.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Celeste rested her head against the airplane seat and sighed. She stared out the window, at the clouds and marvelled in being above the clouds. In a matter of hours, the plane would touch down in Minneapolis, and Celeste would finally be home. She couldn't focus on that; she couldn't focus on anything. Leaving Texas and Mark and Zeus had been a lot harder than she had thought. To her credit, she hadn't cried, though she wanted to.

Jacob and Elise were going to get some off-duty police officers and go get Celeste's things from Brock's house while he was out on the road. They weren't going to put anything past Brock.

Jacob was having the hardest time with the split. He had liked Brock, and he was upset that he never figured out that Brock was the type to use, abuse and control. Celeste didn't blame him for anything. The only person she blamed was herself, for putting up with it for as long as she did. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, people liked to say. Celeste was doing her damnedest to take this as a learning experience.

Mark had begged her not to leave. He wanted her to re-think her stance on things, but she couldn't cave. She wouldn't. Unshed tears had shone in her eyes as she said goodbye, his eyes pleading with her not to leave. But she had, with the full promise that if he still wanted her after a month, he would still have a chance. "If you want me, come get me," she had told him soothingly, caressing his cheek.

"You look sad."

Celeste looked up to the elderly woman beside her. When the flight had started, she had informed Celeste that she was on her way to St. Paul, Minnesota, to meet her granddaughter for the first time. Celeste had felt a little pang of envy at the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it, while Celeste was on her way back to cut all ties with her college sweetheart and plan the next phase of her life.

"Just thinking." She said her name was Adele at the beginning of the flight. Adele Banks.

"May I ask what about?"

"I'm just stuck between two relationships," Celeste said after a few moments. She wasn't sure she should be talking about it. A hot flush of embarrassment crashed into her as she remembered flying out to Texas with a bruised and battered face. She looked out the window, at the clouds.

"Love's confusing, isn't it?" she asked. Celeste nodded.

"You have no idea." She sighed. "I guess it's a matter of what's familiar and what's unknown."

"How is the familiar?"

"Not good." She didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to.

"There's nothing wrong with fearing the unknown," she informed Celeste. "Sometimes you can't just look before you leap. You just jump in and hope for the best. That's the beauty of being in love."

"The uncertainty sucks."

"Yeah, it definitely does suck," she agreed with a sweet little chuckle. "But your heart wants what it wants. In the end, you'll make the decision right for you. I did. Worked out for me. Next week is my sixtieth wedding anniversary."

"Wow."

* * *

Mark sat back on his couch and cracked open another bottle of beer. She was gone. Zeus was even depressed, laying beside him on the couch, his head rested on Mark's lap. He wheezed and whined. Mark petted his head and sighed. The house wasn't the same without her.

He was worried about her. She was going to get her things out of Brock's house, but he was worried Brock was going to create a scene and get himself arrested. Unless she was smart and got her things while they were on the road. He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. Mark had a month, and the wait was going to kill him. But he understood her reasoning to take it slow. He understood her fear, her hesitation. But he hated it at the same time.

* * *

Elise and Jacob picked up Celeste from the airport. "Jesus, Celeste, you look good!" Elise squealed, hugging her sister tightly. Jacob followed up with a hug that almost cracked her ribs. "God, it's so good to see you - we've been so worried! Where have you been?"

"Texas."

"Oh." They walked through the airport. "When did you want to go and get your things?"

"Tuesday. Brock shouldn't be at the house. He'll be at the _SmackDown _tapings."

"Smart move." Jacob grabbed Celeste's bag and they made their way to Elise's truck. It was a cold October afternoon, the kind that made Elise zip up her jacket extra tight. Celeste sat in the backseat of the truck, while Jacob took the passenger side. "How's Texas?" he asked.

"A lot hotter than Minnesota," Celeste murmured, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Where were you staying?"

"With a friend. Brock hates him." Celeste wasn't sure why she added that part.

"Then he's a friend of ours," Elise replied. "I talked to Madge at the agency. She said she's willing to take you on again if you want to come back."

"She never wanted me to quit in the first place. I can't believe I even let Brock talk me into following him around."

"Love makes people do stupid things," Elise replied. Jacob was remaining silent on the subject. "Jacob and I talked, and we agreed it'd be better if you stayed with Jacob. Just in case he catches wind you're back and comes for you. Jacob's definitely more prepared to deal with ordeals than I am." Celeste nodded. For the next month, she would be staying with Jacob.

Jacob's spare room was a barren room. It beat Elise's couch. She dropped her duffel bag at the foot of the bed and sat down. Everything had moved so fast. She missed Mark, and Zeus. Celeste looked down at her hands and fidgeted. One month, she had said. Her feelings were getting too complicated. She wasn't sure if she wanted Mark to come and get her or not. Celeste couldn't make heads nor tails of her feelings.

There was a knock on the door. She looked up to see Jacob in the doorway. "Hey. How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing okay, I guess," she confessed. "At least, I think I'm okay."

"I'm glad to hear that." He came in and sat down beside her. "Is what I'm hearing true, Celeste? Did he hurt you?" She didn't have to answer. Jacob sighed. "Was it as bad as they said it was?" She didn't say anything, but she looked away from Jacob. He sighed. "How come you didn't tell me, Celeste?"

"I was ashamed. You think I was happy to throw it out there?"

"I'm proud of you for knowing when to get out, Celeste. Even if it means you're going to be in danger for a while." He draped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I am. There's just a lot of confusion."

"Your friend?"

"You know me too well, Jake."

"Is it one of Brock's wrestling co-workers?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask who?"

She bowed her head. "The Undertaker."

"What? Get the hell out of here? Isn't he like, ninety?" Celeste covered her face with her hands and groaned as Jacob laughed. "The Undertaker. Jesus."

"Please don't do this, Jake…"

"So, are you two dating now or something?"

"No. I think he wants that, though."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, kinda. I'm just not sure if it's hero's worship or something. I just want to be sure that it's something healthy, and not like some obsessive thing because he helped me when I needed it."

"Always the level-headed one, aren't you?"

"I have to be. Especially now. I don't want to end up back where I started."

"So things are definitely over with Brock?"

"Yes. They are."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Mark was lacing up his boots when Brock Lesnar walked in. In two weeks, he could go to Minnesota and get Celeste. Thank God she had left behind Elise's number. He planned to call for an address before he left.

It was hard not to call Celeste, to talk to her, but he knew she needed her own space to get herself straightened out. He at least wanted to know if Celeste had gotten her stuff out of Brock's place okay. She was really going out of her way to be _incommunicado._

He looked up into the sparking blue eyes of Brock Lesnar. "You with her when she pulled that little stunt?" Mark looked genuinely befuddled.

"Little stunt?"

"She's gone, man. She took all of her shit out of our home!" Mark looked down and smirked. At least he knew that she had gotten in and out all right. She must have waited until Brock was on the road. She was a smart girl, Mark knew.

Brock sat down beside him. "I'm not going to attack you, but I want to know: is she with you?"

"No." Brock seemed to believe him.

"But she was."

"She was."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I don't know where things went wrong with her and I," Brock replied. Mark felt a little awkward that Brock was laying everything out to him this way. But he certainly couldn't talk to Paul Heyman. Paul didn't care about Brock's problems. He just wanted Brock to become the best in pro wrestling history. Brock wanted that, too, but at the end of the day he was still human. "She was the love of my life for a long time, man. I was her first everything. She was so shy, so beautiful. Looking at her used to give me a tug…now, I just don't care. And I wonder if that's just me getting older or if it's just life tearing us apart."

"Or the fact that you beat her and left her chained to the bed?" Mark asked. Brock sighed.

"I'm not proud of that. Jealousy…"

"That wasn't jealousy. You have a problem. You're double her size. You hurt her. You don't think I didn't hear her cry? Saw her fear? You attacked her two weeks ago, Brock, and you hurt Trish in the process."

"I apologized to Trish."

"Oh, yeah? What did she say to that?"

"She told me to shove my apology up my ass."

"Sounds like Trish." Mark's nerves were singing. It was a surreal, strange situation and he wasn't sure if a fight was going to break out. He hoped not. But their feud was over on television for now; now Brock Lesnar was starting to rebel against Paul Heyman backstage and on camera, all while feuding with the Big Show. "Are you going to concede it's over with Celeste?"

"Yeah. I am. I don't deserve her, and I have better things to do, like build my career," Brock said with a sigh. He ran his hand over his cropped blonde hair. "Are you going to close in on her?"

"I don't know. Probably." Brock nodded.

"I've always heard you're a straight-shooter. I respect that." Mark shrugged. Brock stood and left the locker room, leaving Mark baffled on the bench.

* * *

Celeste couldn't get her mind off of Mark, no matter how hard she tried. She wondered what he was doing, what Zeus was doing, how things were down in Texas. Life on the road.

Today she was at Elise's, helping with some gardening. Jacob was helping fix Elise's fence, which had been blown to the side during a nasty storm three nights before. She jumped as she heard a car door slam. Turning, she saw Trish Stratus get out of the car, dressed in tight blue jeans and a black turtleneck. Big sunglasses covered her face. Her bleached blonde hair was back in a ponytail. "Trish!" Celeste jumped to her feet and rushed to her friend as Jacob scanned over the blonde beauty, his jaw dropped.

They hugged. "Trish! What are you doing here?"

"I got your address from Elise. I got her number from Mark. I hope it's okay that I stopped by."

"Are you kidding? It's so good to see you!" She hadn't seen Trish since she had suffered a concussion at _No Mercy._ But she looked better now, tanned and toned like only a WWE Diva could look. She turned. "Trish, this is my brother Jacob and my sister Elise. Guys, this is Trish Stratus. She works with Mark, and she's probably my best friend backstage."

"Pleasure to meet you, Trish," Jacob managed. Celeste bit back a smirk. Even in her typical everyday wear, she looked like a movie star. They shook hands, and Trish flashed him that million-watt smile of hers.

"Do you drink coffee? I'll make coffee."

"Coffee sounds good," Trish replied. Elise went into the house. Jacob followed behind after Celeste shot Jacob a look. She turned to Trish. "Everything okay? How's your head?"

"My head is fine. How's yours?"

"Tormented, but otherwise undamaged."

"He misses you, you know."

"I miss him, too."

"So why are you doing this?"

"I just want to be sure it's what we both want. I don't want to move too fast and not have it work out. You may not understand it, but it makes sense up here." She pointed to her head. "In two weeks, if he still feels like being with me, then he'll do something about it."

"Do you doubt that he would?"

"No. Not really." They began to walk into the house. "It feels good to be home and unafraid."

"I'll bet." They walked up the three front steps and went into the house. Celeste didn't have a doubt that Mark wouldn't come for her. That is, if he didn't meet another Diva backstage first. Beautiful women surrounded Mark all the time. Women like Traci. Mark wasn't made of stone, he was human. Celeste knew that. To assume innocence she knew would be naive on her part.

She wondered if she was trying to drive him away, but she dismissed the thought. Everybody had her doubting her decision to leave and get her thoughts in order, but she knew this was something she had to do. Even if it hurt the both of them, it was going to be the best for them in the long run.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The snow finally fell in the second week of November, blanketing Minneapolis in a thick sheet of white, creating flight nightmares for any and everybody that had to travel. Celeste was concerned about her brother, who was flying out to Shreveport, Louisiana, to negotiate the contract for his first professional boxing match. She couldn't be more elated for Jacob, excited to see him live his dream after spending years doing backbreaking, menial jobs that would lead anybody on the path to nowhere. She only wished that she had a clear-cut dream to chase. With each passing day, Celeste found herself sinking into the depths of self-doubt and self-pity.

She was pretty sure Mark wasn't coming for her. Not when he had women like Traci waiting in the wings for him. She was gorgeous; pretty face, long glossy hair, little body and big breasts…how could Celeste compete with _that_? Mark insisted to her over and over that he wanted nothing more to do with Traci, but it didn't stop Celeste from conceiving every possible worst-case scenario inside of her head.

With her head in shambles, Jacob was worried to leave his sister home alone. He was worried about Brock tracking her down as well, but Celeste assured him she'd be fine staying in by herself. She was actually looking forward to it after spending so much time around people. Her big plan for the night involved hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and an _Ally McBeal _rerun. She was dressed in her favourite pink pyjama pants and a white tank top, her favourite fuzzy blue blanket over her lap. It did its job shielding her from the faint Minnesota breeze that was coming into the house through the door and window cracks.

Jacob had phoned two hours before, letting her know his flight had gotten in safe. He didn't have to say anything, but Celeste could tell that there had been more turbulence on the flight than he would have liked. He promised he would be home in two days, tops. He kept asking if she was going to be all right, but Celeste brushed him off and told him to focus on the negotiations. She was so proud of him. So was Elise.

Brock had come to Jacob's house in the morning, showing up just after Jacob had left the airport. There had been no fighting and Brock had made no attempts to drag her back to his home with him. They were both visibly suffering and in a tremendous deal of pain for various and obvious reasons. But both Celeste and Brock had learned a long time ago how to keep their reactions muted with one another.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't harden herself enough to completely hate Brock. She only hated what he became in the end, selling his soul for a job that he really didn't care for. In the end, Celeste pitied him more than anything.

He had tried to hug her before leaving, and hadn't pushed the issue when she put her hand up to resist. The days of him touching her were long gone. Even being close to her made her nerves sing with suspicion and fear. She had watched him until his truck had left her vision. Then she had shut the door on the darkest chapter of her life, happy that it had ended on lighter terms.

Then the tears flowed.

Elise had insisted that her breakup with Brock was very much like a death, and it was natural to mourn the loss. With Brock out of the picture, Celeste felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. She could breathe again, she was free. It was the greatest, most empowering feeling in the world.

After _Ally McBeal _went through its opening credits, Celeste jumped when she heard a pounding on the door. It was loud, like there was a SWAT team waiting on the other side. Her face darkened; she wasn't expecting anyone, and she was pretty sure that Jacob had told everybody about his trip. She changed the channel - she didn't like to admit that she watched _Ally McBeal - _and went to the door, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

There was no peephole in the front door, a minor misstep Jacob had made. The original door to the house had been blown off during a windstorm. For a second Celeste was afraid that Brock had come back to cause trouble for her, but she shook that fear off relatively quickly. She hadn't told him Jacob was leaving, and besides, if he had wanted to drag her back with him, he would have tried it during his first visit. With a deep sigh, she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

Mark stood in front of her, his black duffel bag slung over his right shoulder. He was dressed comfortably in jeans, a black T-shirt and a leather jacket. A Deadman Inc. toque covered his short ginger hair. He smiled at her and chuckled a deep rumble that rang as clear as bells in Celeste's ears. It hit her that he had sent Trish to do some scoping. She smirked. "Clever."

"Trish spill?" Celeste shook her head. "Good. Look, I know there's another week, but this whole month apart thing is stupid, and I'm just not going to do it anymore." Celeste studied the semi-defiant, semi-puzzled expression on Mark's face and she giggled. She stepped to the side and let him enter the house. He took his gloves off and rubbed his reddened hands together. "Minnesota is always so goddamned cold," he murmured. She closed and locked the door behind her.

They hugged tightly, her fuzzy blue blanket falling to the floor and pooling around her pink and white ankle socks. He lifted her to reach his height and she squealed with laughter as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "It's good to hear that laugh again. I've been missing it around the house." He put her down.

"How's Zeus?"

"He misses you, too. He's been real depressed, looking around for you." Her hands stayed rested on his chest. He felt a stirring deep inside of him. "Where's your brother?"

"In Louisiana. Negotiating his first boxing match."

"That's too bad. I wanted to meet him. It occurred to me on the flight that you stayed with me for a month, and your family has no idea what kind of a guy I am." Celeste shook her head, going back to the couch. She didn't bother to pick up the blanket that pooled at the front door.

He grabbed her, turning her back to him and planting his lips on hers. Shockwaves ignited through both of them. Mark found himself instantly winded; she had robbed him of his breath. His arms snaked around her waist to draw her close.

This was the moment they had both been waiting for. In the moment, there was nothing but the two of them. No WWE, no Brock Lesnar, no Paul Heyman, no drama. Just two people falling deeper into each other and revelling in every moment of it.

Her arms wrapped it around his neck, returning the kiss eagerly until they had to pull back, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. Mark's neck was feeling kinked from leaning down to reach her height, but he had to admit it was worth it.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" she asked.

"Is that what you want it to mean?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

He drew her close. "That I do."

* * *

**A/N: Alas, this is it. I might do a sequel, but I'm not too sure how it's going to play out just yet. **


End file.
